morgan loves the rain

‘tastes like honey’, she breathed through that laugh.

the laugh she only uses when she feels safe.

and the little hearts painted onto her cheeks mixed colors.

purple and pink and gold never looked better.

the rain plinked and plonked in a rhythm they knew by memory.

that smell, he sucked in all the air he could, like cookies out of the oven.

he sniffed loud, making her laugh.

the shoulders of his shirt, wet with a beautiful polkadot pattern.

how did the wind manage to guide its way between the heavy drops?

it brushed her adventure-wet hair to one side.

the sloshing puddles squeaked between the ground and her sneakers.

they were the ones with little smiley stickers all around the rubber.

a tree bent painfully in the heavy weight of the invisible wind.

‘ha, it’s dancing’, he pointed at its swaying branches.

his dripping hands grasped at hers, ‘us too’.

and the tree and the girl and morgan danced.

the tiniest of drops clung to her eyelashes

and to the little point at the edge of her scrunchy nose.

the wind groaned its melancholy sorrow,

and she laughed in a matching harmony. moon to the sun.

the rain, it fell like pent-up heartache.

he plucked a crunchy dorito-colored leaf from the tree.

‘my lady’, he bowed. she twirled the dead leaf.

plucked from its lifeforce, beautiful still.

and the sploshy day, it sounded right. it tasted right. it smelled right.

it felt right to hold his hand.

her little cheek hearts had melted then and left color rolling down.

he kissed the shadows they left, and loved the way she looked in rain.

the rain was only magic with her. only magic with him.

the wind was only music if her laugh accompanied.

if his disasterous dance moves matched it.

he’s like one of those car wash dancing balloon men. it’s wonderful.

but the rain goes on, even though they aren’t there.

even though it was made for them.

and it’s only beautiful when it completes their symphony.

but it still falls, empty, just the same.

for all he knows, it’s just persistent, waiting for them.

like a loyal little dog when his person leaves.

for all she knows, it’ll have to keep waiting forever

since no one is coming home, puppy.

but the rain, it falls. and the wind, it mourns

no matter what happened to the dances, it goes on and on.

because it doesn’t know he’s gone. it just remembers. she just remembers

morgan loves the rain.