Rain falls the way rain is supposed to fall,
the way we were promised it would fall
as we hug in the drizzle.
Occluded electrical suns,
disembodied as jobless pigeons, bloom in the slanted
Our grips affirm our beings,
our pasts, presents, futures,
what’s been said, done, thought, and lived
while completion completes itself infinitely
in circular revolutions of completion;
I know of validation and acceptance.
Waterproof in the night, distress evaporates
as we impart love extra-linguistically,
our bodies an unbreakable formation.
Exile ends as life torrentially floods my veins.
We stretch together, finding consummation
on an abacus of addition.
No amount of hugs could ever detract
from their ability to affirm
something in some place
for which I need no words,
for which no words hold relevancy
because the pervading silence of the moment
lightens our burdens and diminishes polarity.
Our wrapped arms know more than our minds
as the rain dampens our hair
until we release and return from a world of two
to a world of billions, ready for anything.