To Sleep

Did you cry yourself to sleep
when the rain was a comet
making rivers through the back yard
that lit up like ice
trailing celestial missiles.

Did you moan and shriek
until your eyes popped from their sockets,
throat swollen tight
no hot lemon aid and rum burns quite like that.

And the rain tastes like
red match tips held between your teeth
just before they ignite
in powder-blue flames.

If only for a moment,
silence would smother you
like kisses –
they were not kisses.