~ pore

Let the rain touch your face.

Let it reach your deepest place.

Brushing your core’s edges with soft flowing tendrils.

Cool, because you are warmed by your walk.

Melting immediately into your pores.

Flesh drinks like soil.

Yearns for the caress

the gentle press

of water that has traveled so far:

through ages and layers of atmosphere

through every river, every being that breathes

over and over again from the beginning hence,

just to dissolve into your outstretched palm.