In a Thunderstorm

If we made love in a thunderstorm,
Sidled up to each other in the sticky heat of that expectant afternoon,
Our sweaty brows would be thunderheads
Born where two fronts meet
One warm, one cool, to bring forth rain and fire.

If we heeded the call of those rippling winds,
Following a current of longing
As tangible in the hanging air
As the first cool breeze that heralds the storm,
Our hearts would thunder first and loudest.

If we gave in to the looming presence between us
when that desire became too great to contain
And our touches crackled and sparked,
Then it would start to pour.

If we took our cue
From the staccato on the roof,
Water would fall fast and furious as kisses.

If our bare skin purred like the thunder's rumble,
Sending shivers up our spines,
And we gasped in air that was suddenly honey,
Then waves of lightning would finally crash over us in relief.

If we made love in a thunderstorm,
Then after we rolled apart
We'd reach out to brush against each other,
Lightly, just touching,
Gentle as rain.