Harrow of the rain

Today the changing winds of fall blow bitter and cold. Lachrymose skies fall to the earth,fingers of heaven lost in pooled rainwater and diminished between the cracks of ruined concrete.
Sometimes I wonder if you see the rain too,the way it falls on my hair,my face and leaves small crystalline tears on the prisons of my sight as if it wants us to know sadness.
 
We know sadness.Lovers always do.
 
Caged by your own wreckless passions,you pace the floor and every so often,stopping at the screen door you look askance to the sun. I hear your exasperated voice,feel your desperate,hungry plea as you curse the blue sky, wishing for the mitigation of a florid rain.
 
We bathe in it, carrying the scent on our skin like an exquisite perfume.
 
We found each other in that place.That place where sadness consumes the sun and desperate seekers of poetic allusion strive to ease the veil of lone lines where misery reigns supreme.
 
Misery is our companion and we are the lonely.
 
You kissed me in the tormented tears of a downpour,our clothes clinging to the very essence of our bodies and hearts while passers by look upon us, confused by our animalistic embraces, our careless nature, and our passion.
I say let them;let them see. Let their ignorance roll off our backs with the rain and flow into the gutter where it belongs.
 
They know nothing of beauty,nothing of the unnamed connection between lovers. Rain infuses us with it's wetness,saturates us,the outline of our flesh exposed us, naked, and yearning to be more.
 
I miss you most when it rains,my darling,and I have to kiss you.
And though I embrace only emptiness,
I kiss you hard in the pouring rain.