perhaps the rain it is that stirs your belly to butterflies
the hunger of hollow where your eyes look into shadows
when the wet is so slick it feels dry leaving your brim
and your fingers crave to surround the thickest of demons

the whisperers say it is the womb crave doing juju nectar
they say it’s the belly well moaning her hungry into the night
so that the hound dogs will sniff the air and come a calling
to bring your wound the easing of animal thick healing

perhaps it is the rain that makes your eyes stay closed now
when you reach under the warm to find that serpent wine
that surrounds your thighs from his burrowing dance glide
soon to enter the hovering place of your specialized wanton

and carve the sounds of sin words in your unsuspecting