The Forecast Poem by Tsani Jones

Wash me.
I see it erode from the back of a truck
As the falling cold drops
Wipe away the remnants of my sin.

My lust
For life, passion
The microcosm of existence
That eluded me has sealed my heart.

Ramblings of a miser
Stingy with myself
Limiting all emotional
Boundaries on my soul...

I speak
To the rain I shout,
One voice among many
Passing unheard.

But it seals me.
All is still, wet, cold.
My only desire is a real love,
The only answer is

Forty three point eight degrees fahrenheit.