RAM/ROM 29903

The rain is warm and the leaves are melting melting melting,
(This isn’t the first storm I’ve been in,
that just refuses to let up)

I feel something wet dripping onto my shoulders and tilt my head back to see all the colour sliding from the trees,
then I squeeze my eyes shut as it bleeds into puddles of muddy jade on the footpath, and leaves inky emerald stains to spread across my sleeves.

I can hear every drop fall and splatter on the pavement, unceasing, as I shiver once, cough twice and wonder what’s left...

The birds cry as the bricks shift and ache in their cold walls and a man hurries by, holding something close to his chest and I wonder if it’s precious or broken or alive, (Because I’m living proof you can be all those things, at the same time)
and there’s something soothing about the rivers of green running past my ankles.

I glance skyward again and let go of the only breath I thought I could hold, because today I see nothing but black branches,
against sky.

***
Question This:

What is the confusing this thats almost imploding on itself?

"Do you really need a reply? A reply is but symapthy, advise, or yet another gatecrash into your emotions." - Toto Vellani

*

Question That:

Pertaining to my question on headfuckage by an insatiatable proliferation of love towards an impalable 'that', Kanupriya on msn years ago said:

"Distance only as a ploy, a poetic
Device, a means to make the end
Magnificent."

***