This is how I desired you
on rainy days:
You, on my doorstep
your curly hair damp
always returning
when it starts to rain.
Over coffee mugs and magazines
you laughed again
at me frowning
about your solo escapade.
'Does it matter now
why I always leave?'
you asked over a television show
that airs for three decades now.
I nodded, but then shook
my head and said,
'There are voices we hear
when we are left alone.
In caves, it's an echo.
In this house, it's that neighbor
I never heard laugh before.
In this empty town, probably this torrential rain.
And in me, I had been hearing
voices of you.
Because being alone
is no longer about me.
It is now, without question,
about you.
