THIS MORNING IT RAINED

we lay beneath the comforter,
holding back the day.
my fingertips upon your back
touching lightly, little feather strokes.
and then the rising, smooth and hard,
lips and eager skin. throat sounds,
warm rush of moist breath,
the smile of satisfaction.
the rain, the song
of water over rocks,
the rustle of leaves in the wind.

© Joan Barton, 2000

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