Today, I am worn in like winter.
You ask, how come?
And I say, because it’s raining.
Not, hold on darling,
I left my thick skin
back in Virginia—
my last memory
of you is rain
and the rain doesn’t stop
on a fall day in Cleveland.
Under your spell,
the moon, electric and
hell-for-leather,
we burn down the barn—
silo against the stars,
pull my hair back—
through the smoke
your magnetic mouth
fills everything.