Heavy rain slaps
against the shutter’s slats
anchored down tight
against a summer storm.
Sweaty and spent, she rises
from the bed and peeks outside,
then lights up a smoke.
In the twilight I can barely
make out her silhouette.
Turning her back, she sighs
and flicks on the radio.
The haunting notes
of a lone cello
thick as smoke
from some unknown, faraway place
fills the empty space
between us.
Bored, I question the source
of this eternal longing
and recall other lovers
stretching back
from then until now,
and wonder how
we happened to collide
each time
through the pouring rain.
