On rainy days I’m list­less
and wrapped in a blan­ket I stare
out into the eyes of the va­cant sky
the pud­dles rip­ple and the wind
she dances by,
brushing my lips with a sub­tle kiss,
a se­cret mis­chief, a cer­tain af­ter­taste

On rainy days I’m mean­ing­less,
I sip my tea, and count the days
I con­tem­plate the rainy haze
and when there is a sud­den chill,
a wan­der­ing reverie knocks at my door
she knocks twice-oh, she knocks once more

Her name is you, her face is you
she twirls for me: her dress is you
She laughs with me
so I pre­sume
her ten­der neck, it’s your per­fume

It’s just a thought - a hol­low dream
but I think of you to some ex­treme
Before the clouds are sat­is­fied,
then
they step aside for a new sky

And promises of novel dreams
New hands to hold, new lips to kiss