Not when it sprinkles
Not when it rains
Not even when it pours,
Only when the water comes down
Like the sky has never rained before.
The river becomes large and swollen
And rushes onto the land.
It reaches finger by finger to
The grass and the trees,
The way a lover reaches into their lover’s hand.
The next day, when the skies
Have cleared, giving the world no clue
To it’s wet nocturnal opening,
The river looks conspicuously aroused
As it frolics, tumbles and floods
Under a sky of blue.
So am I, on a shinny morning
After a passionate night.
Unable to understand the blank stare
Of a routine world,
Unable to contain my rushing desire,
Even though my lover isn’t there.