Cascade.

Street light siren
and the rain's streaking;
the window flatout pooling.

There's a photoflash
and lightning gorgeous
skyline cinematic viewing,

and a non-spectacular
dead wind with the cars slowing
through the neverending puddles

that are slowly
making the streets 18year soulful,
overdue through the window.

Crease in the sky,
tearing cascade, it's burning,
bold, heavy and thick on my ears.

Break my house.
That's not a plane engine, darling;
that's thunder.