In a Post Pride Thunderstorm

And the rain comes, emptying the main street of all its characters. Only a few remain.

Running around as the brutal drops keep chasing them.

Your hair is wet, dripping with joy

and both our eyeliners are writing new words

across our faces. We don’t run. Because it’s too late,

we’re already soaked in history. Earlier this afternoon

we smiled at each other over a crowd of rainbow flags,

Watching a baby stumble their way to a stranger waiting with her arms opened.

And for the first time in 4 years, for 2 minutes I get to forget how much

I love you and you don’t.

As the rain washes away this old version of us

we step into the after party to the sound of rolling thunder. People as wet

and reborn as we are today. Bodies made of glitter and rain that keep dancing

despite 

Maybe, somewhere on our timeline there’s a version of  us

that can be friends without the hurt.

And in that storm I finally manage to find strangers’ faces pretty again. In this post everything

I finally say hello to this girl I only talk to online and avoid at protests.

She’s standing under a shivering tent.

Her smile is warm and bright like tomorrow.