Like ice cream on a hot tongue,
I am melting:
losing my shape, myself, my reason.
A whisper of white noise—
I sense it
and the anticipation starts every synapse firing.
Better than sex… the first rain.
moving closer, louder, threatening to envelop all
with its cooling wet embrace.
The thrum steps up a notch. I step out.
Murmur of lover’s breath, the air
prickles my hair,
tingles my spine.
heavy with longing,
charged with the wait of a season.
A tinny plink echoes—
deafening. All sound drowned. Only the rain
hammering on tin roofs,
humming, thrumming, drumming every surface;
a watery percussion.
Naked feet inch forward, toes seek solace of water.
Into the arch,
orchids sucking moisture from the air,
from the sheet of water beating its way over to us.
New born breeze mists me,
washes the dust of a season into small rivulets that trace the lines
of my skin.
I am revived, energised as shots hit the sky—
thunder of gunfire, in sodden salute.
A grey wall of water storms the city, obliterating all
but its deafening roar
and I feel serene, clean.
About this poem
© Ammie-oy 2010