S c a t t e r e d

Do you remember the velvet mites
their touch a pristine soft, softer than a cherub's kiss
their colour a red
redder than the passion in our lifeblood?

Do you remember how deeply we sighed
at the thought, that they were drops
s c a t t e r e d
harbingers of the coalescing deluges of love?

Again
full of faith, the rains
are here, drenching us child like,
with memories of what could have been