If rains are lies...

my weather is
not in the radiance
of the sky, but in the
colors of my being.
what's daybreak
but my fond recollection
of your laughter, a silver
brook my poems sailed
to become songs;
the mellow nights
- our secret hideout,
where in the shadows
your ravishing spirit
milks my longings into
the tired blue of a crestfallen
sea. and the great rains, the
devouring downpour
is when the old postman
slips your letters under
the doormat when i'm not home.
you write to me asking
if the summer is
bearable at home?
and i look out into
the obscure light of rains,
and tell you that not a single
cloud has stopped overhead
since we hung our boots.

- Sobhan