Soft morning light seeps cooly through the window,
Filling the room with a dreary gloom that tickles her nose and taunts her restless state,
She tosses as the thunder crashes and turns as the lighting strikes.
But to no avail; a dreamless rain is her fate.

Now in the pale day he whispers softly words that race and run down her spine,
Caressing her mind, speaking lines traced by his fingers.  
Her breathing shutters and her back arcs,
Yet still that grey rain lingers.

So they stay the day away from life,
While the wind whispers and the trees dance,
In his arms she remains as the candles burn,
Mesmerized by petrichor's trance.

For the Earth is soiled and she is satisfied,
From a rainy grey so dull and light,
A day so divine bested her weary mind,
Passing gently into night.