Teardrops in the rain

 
Tears should never be stolen, but earned and
to a faraway lover they are given as precious gifts.
We hold them close; we taste of the sadness and it
saturates our hearts like a warm summer rain.

I carry one small seed of hope in the palm of my hand.
Carefully I cup my fingers, offerings of protection against
an unsettling wind that threatens to snatch it greedily away
and I wonder if it will find you, should I let it go.

By some remarkable twist of fate our paths,
once desolate, have been finely woven into a tattered
wreath of Laurel, embossed with caesious blossoms
and the sine qua non of carnal knowledge.

When the wind shifts; find me there, I'll be at journey's end
'Neath the Laurel and the moon, wearing teardrops in the rain.

Nunc scio quid sit amor...