Pictures Painted

You are a delicious sight for these pained eyes,
just like clear water in a stretch of hot sand.
Difficult to believe so many years have gone...
I only mildly strayed, but so much changed.
Each return, a liminal ritual.
Refreshing and healing me.

Your rain is warm, cleansing. Joyous.
Alone in you, I take you in,
and you make me more
than I can be on my own.

The crisp crackles of your lightning
still shock my senses and gently wake me
from depression-induced slumber.

Green sky hails a downpour,
and I watch from the shelter
of my raindrop encrusted window,
aflutter like a young child of divorce
waiting for her daddy to pick her up
and go for ice cream.

The clouds open up like a storybook,
wet pages spilling heaven's ocean,
audible, crashing, splashing on the street.
Sunlight casts a glow of rich amber
through each droplet, cascading endlessly.

I lay back on a bedspread of so many years
quilted from my love, your laughter, our prayers.
The sun shines through the window glass
and projects the wet cloud tears,
golden, on my skin and across the bed.

Pictures painted in vivid shades of sienna
and yellowed love letters from a faded past.
There is so much to touch, to kiss, to taste;
To remember and cherish all at the same time,
from our sugar-dusted yesterday
to the warm amaretto
of this afternoon
and early evening.

Wait for the rain to slow,
take it down to a whisper
and let me sink in.