Every day I'm waiting for a rain that doesn't come, a sort of catharsis from this heat wave and the drought. In my mind the image of him in a downfall at the end of another July, an overblown meadow and the two of us helplessly unprotected from the floods and the thundering.
We're taken by surprise and drowned
within minutes, my pale pastel pink summer dress like cellophane, glued
tight in plastic transparency to my shivering body. He turns to me and
looks at me closely, tells me to put my hands behind my back, then
places his steadily around my thighs before he lays me down in the wet
green of the grass. He's so adorably careful when he rolls up my dress,
my panties have little black hearts on them and he kisses them softly
one by one.
He comes up behind me on the balcony like a shadow.
"What were you thinking" he asks and I tell him about how he undressed
me and how we drove back in the most comfortable of silences and how I
wore his overcoat in the car. How I forgot about the cold with him
inside me and how I need him to fuck me in a rain like that again soon,
just to keep from falling apart.