Awash

I can remember a rain. I can remember a time. I can remember the suddenness and the randomness of a storm. I can remember the droplets as they slewed off of me onto you. Like a brief tear that is cold and translucent almost exactly the opposite of a tear that is salted and cloudy. 

I can remember the huddle of clouds on a horizon. I can remember a dark in the distance. A black cat in a hallway. I can remember the swell of an energy. Like you walking into a room I remember scenting the change in temperature and odor. Visceral and blooming in my nose and throat. Not sensing. Scenting. As a bee's knees collect pollen you graze against me and I collect bits of you in scents and sounds. 

I hear the brief whispers of raindrops on windows. I feel the storm surges. I hear the anger and disappointment in the sky. Punishing those below. 

I watch the clouds spool and clamor for attentions from the storm. I watch the air darken like your eyes. Troubled. Complex. Unknown. I enjoy the disrupted air. 

And the explosion of an instance. A charge of electricity. A collision. A colliding. 

To return to the subtle chant of rain on a roof. Soothing. Rhythmic. Sonorous. 

A sound I could go to sleep on. A sound I could go to sleep to. Dreaming. Lazily. While you stomp on puddles of my efforts like mere shallow pools that barely reach up to your rain boots. 

I dry off of you in an instant. While you ink me like a tree struck black from a storm. Awash in a memory that smears the wet across a plain still aching from a squall. Just waiting til the next time you come around.