I’m sick of the sound of the California rain, the pitter patter of the drizzle, the daily downpour since December.Â Is it over?
Once upon a time, the rain was nice.Â We would close shop and stay in bed and drenched with wetness would mean wicked kisses, womanly warmth, wild with pleasure,Â the boiling of the water for your camomile tea, and the steamy udon soup from Tanaka’s take-out, which we would eat in the sturdy wood bowls on the flannel sheets, the thick heavy noodles bursting with flavor.Â
Now it’s just an endless rain, rain go away, raindrops keep fallin’ on my head, like bitter tears. And when it pours, man it pours.
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