Rain brought a melancholy.

Just like that music, he’d said,

laying together in sheets still warm –

blissful buffer against outside;

knowledge that something so right

to feel

could be so wrong

to do.

She watched the rain now,

longed for his arms to shield her

against a shame

papers would have a field day with;

against a guilt

that she didn’t care, and never would.

Tonight they’d listen

to that music,

to this rain