That Sunday after church
after singing in the choir
after getting off the bus

and walking into
the small woods
behind your house

the skies opened
and rain fell
and you and she

ran for cover
beneath the trees
the raindrops slipping

through the leaves
and branches
and dropping

on your heads
and clothes
and she said

what will Mother say
this is my best dress
and she laughed

and you looked
at the beauty of her
and the freshness of rain

washing away
whatever sins
may have lurked

on her youthful flesh
and you kissed her lips
and she hugged you close

and the rain fell heavier
and you didn’t care
just standing there

hugging and kissing
the clothes becoming heavier
with wetness

and her dress
clinging to her
revealing her shape

and the outline
of her underclothes
and as you stood back

and gazed at her
and she at you
there was the distant sound

of thunder
and she looked up
and away and shivered

and said
let’s run let’s go
and what may have happened

if the thunder never sounded
and you hadn’t run
you’ll never know.