I am having chicken pot pie for breakfast.
I'm watching the pouring rain
washing away everything in its path.
And I'm wishing that I could
and wash the memory of you
from my mind,
your touch from my body.
I am flooded with images
of rainy days ,
bodies twined under the covers.
The downpour muffling
the sounds of love.
It occurs to me that I am glad
that removing your imprint on me
isn't something the rain can do,
its purpose of nurturing
is to remind me of possibility.