the first storm was this morning

rain at my window, thunder in the walls

but it was you that woke me

and all day a fog hung around the streetlamps

and all day a fog hung around my head

taking in abstract resistance

the shadow that's the darkest side of us

pulling me down

and 52 neatly packaged messages

of genital mutilation and rape filled up my eyes

bloated out my head

and i don't quite to know what to say

when you ask me what i thought

with your earnestly inquisitive eyes searching out the recesses in mine

and it's foggy in my mind, can i touch you

when we're sitting in a dark room watching burning photographs?

i guess there's something in the way

that you run fingers through your hair

and it's foggy in my mind, can i touch you

when we're sitting on a bench listening to local artists

i guess there's something in the way

that you kick your legs when you laugh

and it's foggy in my mind, can i kiss you

when we're parked in my car in your driveway in light rain?

i guess there's something in the way

that the streetlights fill up your eyes

and i guess it makes perfect sense that the drive home was through a thick fog