  I am having chicken pot pie for breakfast. "Deluge" I'm watching the pouring rain streaming down, washing away everything in its path. And I'm wishing that I could step outside and wash the memory of you from my mind, your touch from my body. Instead, I am flooded with images of rainy days , bodies twined under the covers. The downpour muffling the sounds of love. It occurs to me that I am glad that removing your imprint on me isn't something the rain can do, rather its purpose of nurturing is to remind me of possibility. 
