Why ★★★★

I could see the rain falling in the distance
Like strange translucent curtains
in the process of shifting, churning
folding in on themselves.
But from where we sat
they were frozen in time
as of yet too far off
to reveal their pressing, downward rush,
just strange black spiderwebs
hanging in strings against
the blue and cream
that flared orange at the edges.
But those far off storms
weren't keeping back
the feel of the dust and the heat
that coiled up off the asphalt,
like our breath,
as we sat on the faded yellow curb,
against that concrete
that was cracked and mottled
like veins or arteries,
rivers
overlaid by the shadows
of forlorn branches
mingling into the entropy.
There, besides us, the untended grasses
the compiled dirt,
were making what almost seemed
a misguided effort
to reclaim a hold for roots and potential,
the scraggly, lost wildflowers
hanging their blossoms
over tiny pools of water
coated in rainbows
like black pearls
or raven wings.
Still beautiful.
All still beautiful.
And he interlaced his fingers
into mine
so that our scars entwined without thinking.
He asked me then
How can you love me
I don't deserve you
He meant he was awful
and flawed
like everything
I didn't know how to reply
but to speak
of clouds and trees and oil
and I pressed my lips
to the top of his head
his hair warm and soft and
smelling of musk and salt
and the sweetness.