Caught in the Rain

Black billowing mountains of clouds
erupt across the horizon,
the air smells dangerous,
the distance grumbles.
Wind stirs from sleep
in restless fits,
followed by foreboding calm.
The first pizzicato drops
fall to earth.
One, three, twenty,
a thousand of them
pelt against your skin,
quenching
like steel grown red hot
in the furnace,
then plunged into water,
hissing and sputtering.
Quenching the swelter
from a passionate afternoon
in late summer,
the two of you lying
by the shore,
too deeply lost in bliss
to get up and run
from the rain.

© 2015 DM Shepherd

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