Untitled on a bench

I sit on the line between clear sky and rain.

Where you can feel sharp drops irritate your skin

Where the pressure of their fall feels like insects in your hair

Here it is too dim to wear sunglasses

But you squint when your eyes are bare

Here my raincoat sticks to my skin,

damp. itchy. close. embrace.

And I can’t pinpoint the cause.

Doodled by me around the same time this poem was written, Summer 2020