The clouds were worried. Understanding the sky had taken days:
Over the ocean, the high reach of the evaporated haze,
Clumping into cumulus, struck colder, drier air. Mutability stays.
The mountain range, large enough to cause problems, loomed
Over the lower currents in hulking silence; the dissolving atmosphere,
Wind and friction, ambassadors of change; the warming sun, all had a storm in mind,
Making me feel that I was a weather system. Well, wasn’t I?
You hadn’t told me anything. My kisses were about to rain.