there’s a particular
kind of rain
thunderous.
mad rain
pours down
from buckets
then gone
that rain
that rain
reminds me
of fucking
you in Paris
we’d left that
little market
croissants in hands
and had some wine
some chocolate
maybe. olives—
we cooked dinner.
that little apartment
with the massive plant
in the shower
did we fuck
in that shower
or just the bed
rain coming down
I came and came
and you came again
window open
rain came and went
and we were happy.
I thought we were happy.
we’d laughed.
Hard.
about those people
those people
who can’t fathom
lesbian sex
being that satisfying
being that good
without the
act
revolving around a dick
I think,
that night,
I started believing
in my body
as a thing
deserving
of pleasure
deserving
of love
when you strayed
with the body,
and then
with the head
or was it the other
way round?
trying on play-boy,
you’d told the other woman,
“I’d like to know you
in Paris.”
a memory
spat back
in my mouth.
I’d been
a rehearsal.
I’d found
the door in
You’d found
the door out.