Your words are perfect spheres,
Like rain on fur,

Unable to permeate
My repellent pelt.

I shake them off.

The living-room carpet gets stained.


You are sunshine,
You are rain,
And sometimes you are snow.

Every day I look at you, you warm me with your glow.

You nurture and sustain me; your pure essence gives me life.

But your cold stares and cold shoulders give me shivers, turn me ice.

You’re every type of weather and you’re every type of day;

You’re every type of beautiful.

And I love you every way.



Today was other.
Not good, not bad. Other.

Today was grey.
Grey sky met grey pavement in a mist of grey rain.

Today wasn’t even proper rain.
It was the rain that you don’t feel until you’re too heavy and cold to care.

Today wasn’t a story.
I don’t think today was even a poem.

Today was a nothing day.