Raindrops (In A Silver Dress)

Falling from the sky; it's three a.m
and the lone-wolf fields
are mirrors for the moonlight:
Silk-spun fragile in a silver dress
Binding selves to lily songs and a thorny caress
pierces the heavens, the electric knife
frees me from this angel's womb

Free-falling

falling

absorbed by moss-green

melancholy

and four-leaf-clover fates untold

and

I am

your teardrop whispers —

nothing more —

nothing less

silk-spun fragile in my silver dress.

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