Ode To Petrichor

To my romanticism for rain and traces that it leaves on my heart,

an azured morning shifting its palette
to a mourning gloom of melodramatic greys
and the light graze of southern moist wind
that would wind up to peck my bare shoulder
only to bear within a longing to kiss for
centuries and coming days

wearing a clouded scent of melancholia
sent from a meadow of dewy wilderness
made of vehemently black & thunderous night
like a knight in armour with stance as shield
but stands no chance against the Zeus and
would rather fucking yield

the musical drama of immensely heavy pour
cascading its way inside through a tiny pore
that weigh me down by soaked sulk & sorrow
but awakening of petrichor mellows me down
and with a low hush sound of crippling need
i revive myself from sound sleep
to breathe again and breathe deep