I’m in between two long lines of trees

Fake plastic ones play from my stereo

And big brown leaves are flattened on the ground

And they ask me politely

If I would peel them back from the asphalt

And lay them over my rose-bitten nose

To recolor and warm it the olive of my skin

And the rain begs me to go outside

To diffuse the salt hardened on my cheeks

Sugaring over and hardening like a sweet

And I decline 

And I stay in my metal box 

And then

The rain stops.