no poet here

I had a flash of makeshift memory
          I guess you could call by its
            true name: imagination
              
                   there were streaks
                                        of acid rain
         everywhere, yet, there we were
                            《  crumpled 》under your
                                    plastic umbrella as
    you swore in a low tone you’d stand
                                until the storm passed

             & I laughed, I’ll take you up on that
       because this weather is never ending
       & so seems you’ll
                                    be
                                       standing
                                         until your legs give
                and you are forced to admit
                    I do not mean that much
                        and the umbrella drops

          & goes floating, far into the distance
                              I am melting
                                 I am wax, fashion
                           a wick    &     candlelight

               Watch me, ignite the night

–LM