I kept my appointment with Rain.
We met in the wrong room. Upstairs.
Rain was… melancholy. She rinsed
a naked bulb that hung itself
on white wire. It ran out of light,
she said, spreading her fall
from the rooms unfathomed sky.
Rain enquired if I’d brought questions.
I was allowed four. Four only.
Before I could deny it, she pressed
her sodden lips to mine.
Not yet, she said. They are come.
The sash windows unlaced their gowns
so that ghost ships, dragging nets
filled with memories absolved
by R
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