Then comes the rain

By Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

 

GO back in time
when we walked on the steep slopes
of the mountain trail
and sucked out the nectar from the blooms
one by one
leaving only enough for the next day

at a time
when you held my hands together
pressing them with the ripe fruits of May
and we would lick the juice from our palms
little children thirsty of living water

and I would run away
with what sweetness is left
to keep it for myself
knowing it would dry
in the cold breeze

and you would chase after me
a little boy running after pressed fruits
passing freely in between silent fingers
into the loud beating inside my breasts

and catching me
I would surrender the juices
to your lips
till the breeze slowly takes
what remains
for the clouds
to make the rain

 

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