Rain in the Meadow

The rain falls around us in a delicate mist. I move closer to you, seeking refuge in your arms; there is a storm coming. I brush the hair from your eyes; those sweet dreamy eyes. Green eyes; angel eyes; angel eyes in the rain.

We are standing beneath a huge barren oak tree in a golden meadow, we have walked miles to get here, the lone tree left standing after so many years; this is the place where we first fell in love. Back then, it was a deep green forest; we fell upon wet leaves and moss, entwined in our burgeoning passion.

Immersed in the romantic memories of our first time together, I close my eyes as I bring your face to mine; tenderly kissing your lips as you tilt your head ever so slightly, your mouth taking mine with an unrestrained hunger. Your hands are around my waist pulling me against you, as the rain comes down harder, soaking us both. Your lips now only lightly grazing mine as they begin their descent, seeking out my neck. I move against you in the slow steady rhythm of the rain.

Your hot breath whispers against my throat, as the frigid rain pours over our bodies; the sensations of fire and ice, as your touch scorches me with a new found intensity. Searing hot electricity coursing through your veins overpowers me and the icy deluge from the sky soaks my clothes and chills my skin. We are lost together, outside of concepts of time in the exquisite pleasure of our shared obsession; our recollections of so long ago intermingled with our current desire.

You smell like the rain of our past and taste of the crisp cool autumn mornings we have spent in each others arms, lying together for hours, enjoying the blissful consummation of our hearts.

Kissing you is love reborn, desire alive and vibrant.

Once again, we make love in the rain, just like it was before.

The progression of time has changed nothing, and as if we have wished for the same thing we are transported if but for a moment back into that lush green forest, our youth retained, our love the same.

Lightning crashes in the distance as our fevered pitch reaches climax and we are drowned by the paroxysm of our ecstasy... and the rain.

Once again, you have completed me. You are my love, my soul, and once again, my rain.

©2011 Garden Summerland