If you were Rain

I would be forever wet,

stripped naked on my knees

in the grass to

let you wash my back.

Open my mouth to the Skye

until my throat was full

and you poured off my chin

into my cupped hands.

Stand in the torrent,

leaning back as you

scour my chest

with driving sheets,

wind whipped to foam,

lathered over me.

Dance in the hurricane

spinning to paint

myself with blinding

Rain drops that

pierce my skin and

peel me more naked

than at birth,

reborn in a coat

of silver Rain.