Rains Remind Me of You

I sometimes imagine you in your room,

focused on something I do not know,
when the rain sounds beyond your window
and you open the curtain slowly and are no longer
in your unlit room -- suddenly the speakers are
mute and the room is a time-machine inside rain,
and you are in my arms on a lost monsoon noon,
You remember my fingers on your waist and
my lips above your left breast, you remember
worrying about my mouth leaving evidence
of our first moments with each other,
you remember how I laughed when
your hair interrupted my kisses on your face,
how I swore to cut them away: a bald sweetheart
would suit my need to kiss all of you better,
and how you stopped and stared into my eyes
as if you saw the fire in them for the first time,
as if you stumbled upon all my love-letters again
and re-read every single word, making sure
that I wasn't mistaking you for someone else
and that this moment with me, within the wild rain
that made all of the world a fuzzy nothing,
all of it truly belonged to you and me;
I imagine you stare into a tree opposite your room,
through the glass shut against the winds,
as the water hammers its leaves into reluctant shapes;
You are not looking at the tree or at the glass,
but my imagination doesn't know whether
those eyes are filled with sadness or the
dampness of old memories that will dry away
with enough daylight.

Image Source: Silence by Mara Light