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.