rain

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can see you:
the little round spots on the ground that look like drops
are really prints of your toes, and the clouds
just bulged because you took one too deep breath behind them.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can hear you:
this dribbling sound comes from your shuffling feet, and this
tiny little pit-pat is your ear-ring jingling, while
the big whoosh is your hair brushing against the curtain cloth.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can feel you:
the breeze is too warm to come from any hills but your bosom's,
and the little rivulets finding their way along my scalp
down my neck couldn't do so unguided - your finger behind each of them.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain, i can smell you:
no use pretending, dear, that this is the awakening earth
or leaf buds bursting on trees. all these i know well enough
to tell their arome from your shoulders, and hips, and legs.

that's you sitting behind this curtain of rain: i can taste you
in the moisture that gets in my mouth, mingled with petals and
filaments. i'm now pushing away this grey stuff, coming to share
your lair, trusting you keep snugness enough there for two.