There’s something sexy about the rain. About the way it sticks to your skin, runs down your hand; I shouldn’t write another love story but here it is. It comes up and smacks me right in the pen and it moves. It moves for the purpose of creating something new. You bend, I bend, and together we mend the broken pieces. You’ll see the light in my eyes, and I’ll see the thorn twist in your side. I don’t know what that means, but I’ll hold you like the masterpiece you are and give you an extra scoop for cunning. You’d only know that if you watched Rugrats in Paris, but even if you didn’t I think you’d know by my winking eye that you’re something special. Not previously patented, you’re the greatest invention without an inventor the world’s ever seen.