It had been raining for weeks.

by Betta Rouse

Everything was very wet.
The music might have been
a 1940’s sound track.
We might have been on the coast of Brittany.
The raindrops became a continuous flow,
poured from gutters onto wood,
splashed onto the wood.
The single candle, and its reflection
in the bureau mirror,
lit the whole room in that golden glow.
We had had drinks and dinner,
cherry pie and coffee.
I wanted you to look like I felt —
in my swimsuit,
a halter and high–waisted 40’s shorts.
I dragged you out into the rain
until we were both quite wet.
I took your head in my hands,
took your body to mine
as we kissed and kissed.
Afterwards I craved
the taste a good Italian
meal
leaves in your mouth.