Dew sticks to the sidewalks,

like honey captured on the edge of a mug.

Water threads itself into the sky,

parting from the clouds.

Although it is middle of July,

nobody seems disconcerted or surprised.

They make their way cross sidewalks,

and the rain,

drops and drops and drops.

Never noticing the stickers,

sticking

like moss to a telephone pole.

Coffee brews;

and carries its scent over the dew.

Eyes flicker,

and people on the street move no quicker,

as the water,

pounds and pounds and pounds.

Leaves green, pants tight, and sneakers bright.

Haircuts shaggy, smoke billows,

she asks, “can I catch a light?”

Cups in hand, warm to the touch.

Waterlogged people nod soggy heads as they meet.

A simplistic, no hassle way to greet.

Umbrellas, fictitious.

We let the rain bless our skin with sloppy,

wet kisses.

A soft spot we have for the damp and the cold,

A kinship of sort,

spanning young and old.

So sit and hold tight to your book by the fire

This weather will be sticking for quite some while.

You should expect nothing else from,

Seattle.

by iliketowritethings