And they always told me the rain isn't clean.
Not clean? But look - it falls quick and sure and hard - clean and cold on my tongue and sweet and swift in my hair - not clean?
And they were wrong - there is nothing cleaner than this rain, nothing purer than water coming from the heavens through clouds and smog and all that junk, cold and clear and straight into my arms. Nothing bad about a small wet bit of skies just for me, frizzy and damp.
There is nothing more than this, stumbling into bed, tired and drunk and maybe happy but too fried to figure it out. Nothing like being straggly, frazzled, and leaning over your mouth. Just one kiss, fresh like rain and a small piece of something too big to grasp.