there wouldn't be that sound
like bacon sizzling
above us lulling us to sleep
even tho our flashlight and book wait impatiently
for us on blurred lines days
when maybe it's okay
to lay longer in puddled sheets
lingering without coffees?
and without rain
there wouldn't be
that memory of when we were 7
rushing relief there was no spelling...
only coloring that tuesday of thick-lined umbrellas
and that awful miss grovenstein muttering to herself?
bitterly about storms
and no playground period
that made my first purposeful smirk?
caught your shy eyes, sneaking ~
with a sideways glance to
windows, now fogged with glazy bedroom drops
reflecting all the prism'd reds and yellows
putting on a sideshow...I know
how lonely we would feel without our rain.