Edges

Earlier than the sun she wakes to his elbow between her ribs. His edges sleepwalk like her mind--panic attacks manifest only in recurring nightmares. Dry eyes scan the ceiling, forbidding a glance at the bedside table. She overrides their conviction and observes a clock's top right corner enclosed by two black arrows. She appreciates his shape rising and falling next to her but no longer craves it. If only, she muses, everything were as concrete as time.

Inclement

single-passenger umbrellas fill the streets as rain does,
grates absorbing the storm and filth,
sleeves absorbing the weight.
it's not moisture they fight, but gravity
willing the clouds instead to swell
gray, full, stoic
as though with the silent
pride and thick
ambition
city dreams require.
'Be nice to everyone, for each fights a battle'
or something like that.
cabs carry two
one driving, one paying
yet tonight
as one
we battle the rain.