Velvet Shoes in the Rain

by Kimberly Gerdjikian

Soggy toes enclosed by soggy socks.
9 hours to go.
My eyelids lower in disdain.
I picture myself swallowed by a plump comforter and sandwiched between    
     cartoon themed sheets.
I look up to find my head resting on your chest.
Your fingers : a slow tornado meandering my hair.
Placidly planted with you as my pillow, I focus my ears to the clouds' weeping
     symphonies.
Rain drops drumming onto glass.
A branch scraping the window forces my mentality back to reality.
I still hear the rain.
Only I'm not in your bed, and neither are you.
You're across the country.
I'm at my desk.
And my feet are still wet.