I’m standing in a tower watching it rain.

Birds are fluttering in the puddles,

Taking a bath and a shower

At the same time,

And splashing nude with one another,

If you don’t consider their feathers clothing.

The butterflies have gone and hid.

They’re more aware of the secret,

That the id is plain and obvious

To everyone but the birds and apes. 

I consider the nape of your neck.

Glorious the rain! It’s trapped us here

Between the place where angels fear to tread,

Like butterflies, and this place, where the smell

Of wet earth has gone to my head,

And the little birds chirp. They’re telling us

We might want to reconsider id.

I mean, it.

-jenn