I’d hardly call that a shower

Stop. Save this moment.

Lying beneath rain that will never fall,
bright-eyed wonder glinting within crystallised suspension.
Stretched out on recliners, absorbing the light of a million suns,
tanning our souls a golden brown,
waiting.
Watching and waiting.
Imagining streamers of flaring white,
the diamond flourish of an icy phoenix;
scanning and waiting,
watching and waffling,
saving all our thoughtful words for wishes,
for this moment.

Far and few. Short and sweet,
the sugar-licks tail across the brow,
crossing out mistakes that only omniscience would notice,
its marker-pen absorbed by the fabric of our covering;
our real-time planetarium,
complete with tea-lights, balmy air,
and sprints of silver memories.

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