Soft, There Will Come Rain
Soft, there will come rains.
When falling tears will douse burning cheeks
of flame. I’ll wash clean your soiled streaks.
Tremble, these memories will linger;
pipe icing on caked crumblings of your dark heart.
My tender fingers will pain’s curtains part.
Hush, there will be blame.
Whispered wasp sting words. Strain not to weep.
I’ll blow gentle scent over your petal breezed sleep.
Yes, there shall come broken wings.
Black spent matches as splints can never do;
you’ll charcoal crumble. I’ll draw me to you.
Blush, before the world exposed.
Lust’s flame that once limelight licked the stage
now gone. My smile will help you turn play’s page.
Disarm your cross-brow; take these nails.
One for each palm and two to sharp tack your heels,
forever pending. My caress the pain will heal.
There now, this rope will chafe your wrist.
Tight bound: you knew it would always lead to this.
It bleeds and bites. I’ll cure you with a kiss.
Sigh long, now here are your two stakes:
one for the heart, the other silent strong in learning,
patient to determine. Can love spare the burning?
Oh sure, present pleasure has to pass.
Your careless compass strayed you from true path
to soon ditchtrip and plummet the sheer cliff.
I’ll belay you with love’s strongest hitch,
shield you from the future pains,
certain, yet to arrive, but soft:
There will come rains.