Rain. 
Sometimes I hear a rumble
like a call from distant clouds
pregnant with tears
or a whisper carried on the wind
like the mournful call of a wandering soul
I stand exposed and alone
waiting to be kissed
a cleansing rain from the heavens above
soaking me, renewing me
her rough hands caress me and enfold me
my soaked hair whipped across my face
I will stretch out my arms
lean into the madness
give myself into
the only thing I know
that won't take me away.