The rain falls hard on wisteria branches hitting my window
the air is thick
and I cannot sleep but how I long to.
Behold, begins a familiar phrase.
I pull my pillow over my ears, I toss to the other side
as if that will help me get away from it.
I stand at the door and knock.
Asleep in bed yet somehow standing
I put my ear to the door and listen to
the rain and the presence of someone
I want to get away from and be near to,
warm yet strange
on the other side.
The rain outside
now trickling down my face.
I fling it open
and with it the scent of wet earth and damp floral perfume
the sight of the warm man in front of me.
"I'm not going to bow to you," I say
I refuse to life my eyes to meet yours.
This doesn't upset you,
as your kind eyes come down to meet mine.
Fine, I relent:
"Here are my tears.
Do with them what you can."
The rain continues to fall.
When I wake I ask
"Why do I dream of you?
Why at night to do you come to me as comforter and giver of beauty
when during the day
following you was a waking nightmare?"