By Amberdawn Collier

The rain is my secret, ardent lover.

She catches me unaware, promptly sliding past my maidenly defenses,

I never shield myself, never reject her advances with umbrella or

newspaper.

She starts gently, kissing my face, my hair

-each individual strand- with a mixture of patience and hurry.

Our affair progresses, the rain becomes more insistent,

soaking through my clothes,

molding them to my body.

She finds and touches all my secret places,

hidden from hurting hands,

sliding seductively down the valley of my chest,

resting in the cave of my navel.

Kisses overflow from the tips of my hair and run down my cheek,

claiming my mouth and tongue.

She's a cool lover, almost chilling, like ice cubes on hot bodies.

The sensuous, silky feeling of her liquid fingers fill me

with a longing to jump into the ocean,

to feel the beginning of my lover, of us all, surround every part of me,

cover me with her salty, sexy self from head to toe -

inside and out.

Some might say my love is inconsistent, philandering.

She makes love to anyone out of doors, to the ground, the roofs, the

cars,

But I can't be jealous -like me, she has spent most of her life

imprisoned.

The clouds gobble her up, holding her tight

until her vastness becomes too much for their greedy hands to carry,

then she falls on me, impatient to get back to our foreplay.

We have a sense of sisterhood, those who have been beaten, controlled.

I could never fence her in, try to contain her spirit,

I will be her solace,

as she is mine.