cold wet rain
His hands should be put to use in a different way
If for no other reason than that I am jealous
of everything his fingers touch that aren't me
Every hammer that he picks up
and slams against a nail
reminds me of what we aren't
His shirt clings to his back with sweat
from hard work
and not desire
for me
His hair is set ablaze
alike the pit of my stomach
whenever I look at him
If only an outpour of cold wet rain could douse him and me
Guide that inspired this poem: