Stuck at the bus stop,
Leaves afloat, they spin.
“Here, my handkerchief,” you offer.
I take them from your fingers,
I let my touch on your skin linger.
I wipe away the rain,
From my face and from my body.
You follow the path of my actions on me.
I return the cloth back to you,
Damp, you take it from my hand,
You hold my wrist and gently you bend.
Until your lips a breath away from mine,
Until anticipatory pleasure turns to pain,
You smile at me and say, “I love the rain.”