Quadrangle 68 poetry

This should’ve been our first kiss
Ron Ward
Rain pours so heavily
it’s a veil of liquid crystal
streaming down the windshield
 
Distorted bands of colored light
spill into the parked car
splashing off your hair
your eyes
your skin
 
Over the music and our voices
water drums on steel
tumbles over asphalt
crashes into heaving storm drains
 
The car smells like salt and cold rain
we sit till the insides of the windows fog over
silent for long stretches to respect the storm
 
Later, the skies clear
seatbelts slither and click
I drive you home down glistening streets
 
We sit again under quiet gold street-lamps
and I run my fingers through your hair