You are watching the storm roll in, close in on us,
and I am watching it come, too, in the reflection 
in your hazel eyes. The ending scene to a movie,
I lean into your shoulder as my cherry-red hair
whirlpools around us. To the ever darkening sky
we tilt our faces like wide white moonflowers
opening up so slightly at the brink of dusk.
Fireflies seep from the ground around us,
and the blue jays who once blitzed the air
are so hauntingly absent. Everything moves
in the tide of wind, everything is touched here.
As leaves turn and spiral around our silhouettes,
we are caving in like old lovers, we will not make it.
I do not yet cry. I am waiting for the moment. 
I will stand in the rain then, so you will not see it.