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: 


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