The language
Of
The heart
Is
More
Powerful
Than
The language
Of
The
Head

Maybe I miss the late nights of flesh interwoven
sheets cast aside and candlelit silhouettes
Baby I miss the peace found between kisses
placed on the nape of your neck
Crazy that this blue flame misses your
Red fire and riding rhythm
Vainly I miss watching those hips walk away
But it's a sight I'll never trade

The air is thick with anticipation.
Birds have quieted, their song lost in the darkened sky.
A gust of wind whistles as it whips up dead leaves on the sidewalk, stirring them around before letting them scatter.
All is still.

When at last, the first drop breaks through the heavens, it shatters the silence with it, and beats onto the ground like applause.