Fingertips

It's like all the faces of every kind and comfortable person are falling in shattered mosaics over the sun stretched membrane that has dried over my scorching heart and I'm craving rain like her soft fingertips that shudder my heart with their gentle tapping. Persistent, melodic down beats that ground me, pull my roots deep deep down back to this place where I have grown, my branches stretched up to the open sky bleeding down infinitesimally. And it's like I know how it feels, the emptying release of a thousand raindrops falling over dried skin. The pain that burns like summer heat, dissolved in the monsoon of tears. And it's comfortable, and I'm home. And I remember what closeness feels like.