Beautiful same

When I feel rain, I think of you, standing cold and shaking under rare mountain grey, and I held you. Jackets and scarves and t-shirts and flesh came between us, but we pushed them aside to make room for those beautifully symmetrical chest cavities like puzzle pieces. Warmth spread and that numb happiness filled my eyes, watering in the wind with pinpricks of falling sky, and I saw you force your chin toward the asphalt, unwilling to make our contact complete with your eyes, frightened of the consequences. I watched rivers form beneath your hair, pooling and rushing toward the edge, daring to peek over the cliff until the inevitable fall carried them screaming with pleasure down the valleys of your face, those lovely lines. I wanted so badly to join them, to navigate your wild skin and match those pores with the soft damnation of touch. Instead, I held you as close as our fibers would allow, imagining an ending that never came, one that will not come, though years have passed and floods have risen. When I see rain, I still think of you.