Demeter and Persephone

It's raining,

West Coast rain that sticks

to the cedars, maple leaves,

eyelashes, her white shirt

dripping and transparent, clings

to her chest, ribs, bones.

You kiss her eyelids, nose,

lips, know her mother is waiting

for her to return.

Bark is digging into her back,

mascara carving black rivers

down her cheeks.

You feel guilty

as you peel off layers of wet

clothes, searching for her

pale skin, let her dress, slip, stockings fall

onto pine needles, into puddles.

Your lips are moving across her collarbone,

neck, cheeks. You have finally found

Persephone, after days, months, years

of searching. But your are still hiding

from her mother.