The Storm

We stood, dripping,
in the mist of the pouring rain.
Her hair clung to her cheeks
as if holding her up.

A single raindrop landed
on her right eyelid.
She blinked, and the water mixed
with her mascara, adding

another stroke to the stripes
flowing from her eyes. She wiped
her face with the backside of her hand,
and I understood watercolors.

She looked up, our eyes met.
A flash of lightning fell beyond time.
The next morning, the sky was dulled,
as if we had used all the color.