Statuette (In The Rain)

Yellow beams chase straggling dreams,
the morning whispers promised warmth,
to ears shackled to sleep’s bondage;
private promises of orgasmic skies,
and sweet untasted riches of a virgin day.

Unhurried, the pristine statuette arises,
from mattress that mourns her departure,
gradually shedding black satin lamina,
a naked vista, figurine of perfection,
marmorean skin glowing like milky moonbeams.

“There is one thing with enough purity”,
thought this new Goddess awakened,
“To wash clean stony remains of slumber,
giving the day vitality and fluid energy.
I must caress the dawn’s maiden rain.”

She waited in the old courtyard,
for the barest murmur of droplets,
a diminutive smile on her beaming lips,
as the cold wetness began to tickle,
before burdened sky burst to a crescendo.

Each chilly bead whipped, lashed,
excited and stimulated, invigorating;
gasping hard, her skin lightly prickled,
nipples erect, succulent breasts heaving,
she began to sway to the glory of nature.

Uncaring of the world around her,
she danced lithely to the rain shower,
to the wonders of morning unnoticed,
taken for granted by the rest of mankind;
she alone in this moment was one with nature

When the final patter of raindrops stopped,
she threw her head back and laughed,
no longer an untouchable monument of stone,
now an exquisite portrait of flesh and blood,
wearing only the gifts of life as her cloak.