Sweat drops trickle down her spine like rainwater dribbling down foggy window-panes. Soft contours of her body remind me of a gracefully curving river. When my fingers trace her collarbone, her skin sprouts goosebumps like paddy fields waving in the breeze. Lightening strikes in her eyes as I look into her eyes before leaning in to kiss her over again and when I do, she trembles like a banana tree in windstorm. When she chuckles, it sounds like rainwater dripping from roofs, playful and brisk.
She is not the kind of rain that soothes the sun-burnt earth, she is the kind that scorches it with passion, setting it on fire of renewed hopes.
'You are Scorching Rain.' I tell her, as we lay listening to the downpour outside.
She smiles, 'For the record, I don't like rain.'
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