We bump noses
trying to share an umbrella
and it's pouring.
You're holding me close
under the vibrant
patterns of a old
umbrella you stole from god
knows where.
I want to feel raindrops on my
face but you're acting
all concerned that I may
catch a cold.
I laugh it off.
And I'm still laughing
as we manage to
get the last two seats on the bus.
I'm looking out the window
and you are looking at me.
I refuse to let you care and you
tell me that you refuse to stop
and I realise I said that out loud.
My shoes are leaking and
my socks are wet and when
you lean in to kiss me
it is not the best day of my life it
is the start of it.