Rainy days.

Hours drip down

 my window

like raindrops,

 trickle slowly

and blur my 

vision of the 

 cold and wet

day outside.

I wonder what

 it would be like 

if every drop were 

a second,

or a minute,

and to taste such time

as it folds on my tongue,

like a snowflake

which melts away 

in the warmth of

my age. I want to taste

each second 

as it dissolves

into my tastebuds.

And even if my face

turns cold and red

from the cold-season frost,

And even of my mouth 

turns blue from drinking 

snow and tasting rain,

I'll know that

 in the morning 

the sun will come

along again, 

and the dew on

my lips will taste

as fresh as

a mothers

first kiss

to her newborn child.

Author's Note

I tend to space the words of my poems out to match how they sound in my head. Do you think that the layout for this poem is easy to read?