Looking through eyes
drugged with wonder, like a 
child, like a newborn fawn peeking 
up from the dusted underbrush. 
Looking through eyes at a 
summer-dry world in spring.  
Destiny comes spilling 
down, soft showerheads of mist.
The smell of grass, clean and cut 
and framed in unpaved rural roads.  
Showerheads of mist rinsing skin 
with eye sky-kisses, warm pulses 
dripping through the air, 
suddenly new. 
Everything unexampled, 
unexplored.  Everything fresh-
washed by rain.  A first rain.
This is how I feel about you.