Purple Rain
It’s pouring. It’s the dark bone chilling lonely
un-regal kind of rain. I want to believe in this
imaginary life. Where the bluest expectations
of the sky meet a honeyed sadness balanced
over the horizon. I remember knee scrapes on
Hennepin Ave, faint whiff of weed in her smile
when she kissed me. Oh man, the rain was neon
full color. It was salvation, sex, revolution falling
from on high. The thump thump thump of bass,
the staccato siren-whoop of reluctant cop cars
crawling through the crowd. They had no clue
we were drenched reborn; sanctified, immortal.
from Autumn Sky Poetry DAILY, April 29, 2016 — by Alex Stolis
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