.
.
Not rain
but a fog of half asleep ghosts
.
.
Not funny ones who scream in movies
but scary ones who stare on streets
.
.
Not with eyes eager to judge
but with hands ready to break
.
.
Not with words to cage your soul
But with gestures to bleed your heart open
.
.
Not with blood you hide in every pocket
But with tears you slip on with every dance
.
.
Not that there’s nothing to do
But it’s already twenty past the right move
And every forecast is in the horizon
But not rain
