There will come soft rains, and over the hill comes Adam
Long blonde
Dreadlocks touching shoulderblades
Shoulderblades sprouting wings

He touches his cheek and
Laughs at my childish nature

He touches my hand and
Nods in approval of the calluses he finds
Evidence of hours spent in back yards, waiting rooms, parking lots,
Trying to turn lifeless objects
Into dance of light and life.

He touches his hair "It's getting too long but I don't want to cut it."

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