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I can’t stop thinking of you, love. You’re like

The rain tonight, which makes me think of you.

O what a night to write a poem for you!

It’s raining just for you, only for you;

The sweet nostalgia pours down from the sky.

I can’t help crying looking out there. Why?

Why should there be these tears? I’m so happy.

I’ll let them come, though. If the sky can cry,

Then so can I. And I can sky-cry too,

With my whole body shaking like a cloud.

There is such rain in me—though only you

Can bring it out. Only the thought of you.

What are you doing now? Painting some street

Somewhere with dancing-in-the-night? Singing

Your sunny soul from off some night-drenched rooftop?

Or are you laughing with your sister like

A butterfly, a monarch sipping life’s nectar?

Perhaps you’re looking at the rain like me,

Quiet like me, thinking of me… We

Are all there is, we and this lonesome night

(Scented like an autumn fog). –And when

I think of all my past, and all I’ve suffered,

And all those years I longed for rest or death,

I listen to the calming rain, drumming

Like a massage, and I contemplate

The window-rivulets, which move and melt

Together, and I sit here silently

And think only of you, only of you.

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