Nimbus

Pleasure takes form
Of raindrops
With a quaint disposition
That fall onto my hair,
And soak into my head.

I could feel his breath
In the whispers
Of the recordings he sent,
Caressing the curves
Of my mind.

I like to run
My calloused fingertips
Over my fantasies.
It gives them texture,
But keeps them in reach.

Clouds roll out
And take with them
My raindrop fancy.
Until the next storm,
When I'm caressed again.