Thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening.
There's something about the rain which reminds me of the way your eyes were when you tried to not laugh.
So it is on days like this that I want you again.
Want you, between the bookshelves that closely line your country home.
Between the unfinished paintings that lie still undone in your studio.
When the rain soaks through my shoes and socks, on to my toes, I want you.
When my knees are wet with the rain water, you are there with your university hoodie drying my legs. By your fireplace, between my neatly organised notes, to the sound of thunder, to the lick of fire on wood, on the Iranian carpets on the floor, running through the rain to get me a Krispy Kreme because that's what I want when I'm cold and ill and feeling desolate and loveless. Krispy Kremes and you.
Across the pond, you light another cigarette, with the rain in your hair. Sometimes you write, others you ask if I have tried falling in love with someone else. Here, I dry my own feet. And even when the days are dark and the nights cold, no one else's body covers mine.