Summer Storm

A few drops
ticked
the shingles
like a dancer’s pointes
that graze a stage.

Your glance
passing
lit my skin.

You turned, an arm outstretched 
and wound me in. Our mouths pressed tight– sun-flake, tea-tannin.
The sky drilled drumbeats, roof-splatter, rainrush, flash-flicker, thunderslaps
torrentspill, windowflows, gutters overrivering, downspouts tintinabulous

until – we two spent, earth slaked –
a last rain rattle
and all 
stopped.

Grass flushed flat
the dent from your teeth on my lip.

© Jean Van Loon