The Color of Rain

The methodical movements of windshield wipers pace back and forth across a gray and overcast sky. Steam escapes the charcoal of industrial chimneys, dissipating under the assault of the rain, while I traverse the ley lines of the bridge. The rumble of the thunder creates a veil of solitude within this personal eye to mask the listening traveler among many as weary leaves give up the ghost and are escorted to their resting places along the ground. The swirling winds whisper as they hide in the shadowy corners of the car’s cabin. The rain falls quietly and gently within my soul to produce the satisfying taste of a welcome Morning. Warm thoughts of awaiting company displace the stressful memories of a long day.

Closing the gate to the courtyard, I view fresh greens vining themselves along the walls.  I catch a glimpse of her just past the yellow of the tulips.  She speaks, yet her lips never part. Her thoughts dance, calling to me with tender persuasion. The brown of her legs move behind the windows of white cotton.  Looking into her eyes, pulling me into a vacuole of blue green, I raise my head above the waves before descending further into the warmth of these dark waters. I shed my garments of insecurity.

Arm extended – she touches me ever so slightly. The eagerness in my body relaxes slowly and willingly.  Endless motions of genderless role playing. The blue arcing of electrons. The magic in the discovery. “When two are in love, leaves will appear to fall to them like slow motion …rain”

by malakhai jones
© Copyright 2016

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