Alaska.

This is my first attempt at poetry in quite a while, so this could be interesting. Be merciless.

That day I took a walk in the rain,
across a piece of waterlogged paper,
writing my feelings down,
with steps and puddles and every falling drop.

You pointed ambiguously out the door,
and said, "I want to see you soaking wet,
so show me yourself in two dimensions,
brittle skin, blue veins and all."

Like hands under my pillow,
yours, mine or applause for having niether,
the gaps were localized to the space,
between me and the snowstorms in Alaska.

Would you just let the snow fall already?
I want cold and I want a closed sky.
Nothing ever falls here,
it hangs like moisture in the air.

Let the snow fall,
Alaska.