The Vintage Rain

So, it rained like yesterday,
One drop over that vintage skin-
And, one on the glass astray.
The lusty warmth of the wet soil,
Fell over the rocks and the narrows.
Like one earth finding its contemplating shadow.
Two worlds- neither together nor apart;
Taking everything in notion-
just blew away.
Tossing the grass green,
Like a confluence of several arcs.
It rained like yesterday,
One drop over that vintage skin.

Every moment, making a crisis,
The shadows screaming loud.
Like one hand over the other-
aloof and astound.
The chaos of the heaviness,
the heaviness of the slow breathes.
Those mixed with noise 
in the psych of sanity;
like the moisture of the window screen.
And, it rained like yesterday,
One drop over that vintage skin.

For, it is naked nostalgia,
Everything just, yet, brutally vague.
Naive gestures of those nerves,
Taking toll over the tender rage.
When it felt all numb,
Yet brutally pleasant.
The rotten smell,
of the smothered soul...
And that noise of silence-
Mixed in a chaos of solitude.

It always rains like yesterday,
With one drop over that vintage skin.