She stands in prelude
under overhang,
behind the rain,
hands sunk in
the buried treasure
of warm pockets;
while she waits
(like stars on a rainy night,
for a wish to dry them)
for time to fetch her love.

The drips and drops
like curtains
keep out a sunny day.
And hope drives slow
in the rain.
But she waits,
either way, eyes closed,
for something to reach out
from this pouring down life,
for someone to touch her. 
She remembers birthday candles
spent on ponies...
and pretty dresses
she'll end up wearing
under an overhang
behind the rain,
waiting
by the side of the road
for life to pick her up.

©d.m.riggs.'09.

i reach out for her in the wilderness of the first cold night and it's like reaching for the stars with mere human arms, all i catch is space and a cold, like reaching the ends of the earth, where i tumble off forthwith, into the abysmal bliss of my mind's blackhole. i reach out for a pen, for a doorknob, standing in a five minute hallway, hoping maybe i can write my way through a wormhole and warm myself, even just my hands in your pockets.

i reach out for words, but it seems tonight my words must reach out themselves, for more meaning. morose just seems moreso of what was, and always is is something new now that you are. everything has that crisp chill of a new dollar bill, unspent and yet unsaved, sitting here feeling that peculiarly wintry thrill of being the only thing left standing; everything in the still of the night but the bright of my now wild eyes, beguiled, like a child's, staring at a pair of breasts.

you see, the cold reaches out and wrests words from my mind, wrests the poet from a summer slumber. i reach out and lay beckett on the table, (let him stay there.) and i reach out for her hand. can a divorce be reconciled with an open marriage? can i hold two hands? i close my eyes, and i reach out into the wilderness of the first cold night.

...

i reach out for another smoke, and another drink, double-fisting my drugs, double-taking love. it's a draft that gives me cold feet. but it's what she whispers in my ear, that keeps you warm.

©d.m.riggs.'09.

not just for a ccw prompt.

because it's ridiculous,
because it's melodramatic,
and possibly emo,
because i can, and will, and am.

because it's raining,
and i do love to fall asleep to the rain...

because i want to be the fool
for you.

i'm wasting all their time
to read this,
a not-even-poem,
just so i can tell you
i love you.

©d.m.riggs.'09.