Chance of Rain

A Chance of Rain

Like a storm signaling cloud,
A silhouette drifts into view.
Clothes cover her body
With a sultry turbulence.
Dark mass of movement
pushed forward with gusts
from legs taught with tension
in their webbed stockings.
Her black skirt
is more intense
than the sunny rays of
decency .
The horizon is spaced
between her steps
as a straddled platform.
Scanning the sky
I see her hair,
dark as fear
kissing her shoulders.
It taunts me with its
delicate tendrils,
touching her neck where
I would glide my fingers and
lips.
Pink.
Soft.
Warmth.
The pleasures of breasts
Concealed by a wicked display of
amalgamated fashion.
As fast as a storm
she glides by.
Her force--
a fury of erotic forms--
as hard to grasp as the sky.
My life's focus is
to suck the scent
from her clothes
and imagine light
shine where it is denied.
She seems to feel,
to sense my need.
She looks,
and from her eyes--
not sunny or blue--
streaks of lightning
crackle with life.
My heart thunders,
applauds with pleasure--
There is a chance of rain tonight.