"Tell me something," she said.

"I'm thinking about you naked."

"But I am naked silly. Right next to you."

"That's why I'm thinking about it."

"Tell me something else," she whispered into my ear right before softly licking my earlobe.

A pair of headlights penetrating the blinds drawn to shut out the world and the street below drew twin lines across the ceiling. The night had descended a particular cold upon my bedroom, and while the down comforter offered our naked bodies plenty of warmth and protection underneath it, any protruding limbs immediately found their way back under the covers. We were two naked bugs wrapped up in a cocoon, preserving body heat and slumbering away through the winter months.

"I want it to rain again tonight. Really rain. Noah's Ark rain. Maybe not for forty days and forty nights, but a rain that floods the streets and rides its way through the sky backed up by pyrotechnics and choruses of thunderclaps that rattle the window panes and make want to turn down the stereo and listen to the concert outside. A vengeful rain, one that drives you inside and reminds you to stare up at the ceiling and hope that the builders had provided for a downpour with a nasty side. I want to feel that even if I had some responsibilities to think about, that I would have no problem staying in bed with you (not that I would have any problem doing that anyway; it would be worth missing three days of work to lie in bed with you until we ran the danger of developing bedsores) because everything about the world would already be telling me that my rightful place is in bed with you and I should not move more than three feet away from you. A rhythmic rain that makes me want to draw my two index fingers up your back and between your shoulder blades in narrow parallel lines before splitting them and running them back down your concave sides before returning them again to the small of your back, starting the slow circles over. A rain that slowly beads up on the small of your back as your body slowly grows warm under the covers, one that teaches me to trace the drops of sweat across your back, mimicking the rivulets of rain as they draw patterns down the window. I want that vengeful rain, a flood from the sky that washes away the oil off the road and the dirt and grime that builds up on all of us as the days sit upon us one on top of the other dares us to pretend that we can compete with Atlas. A rain that makes us hyrdoplane out of control and into each other and forces us to cling to each other's wet forearms and intertwine our fingers to keep from drifting off and down the gutter. I want it to rain like that and I want it to keep raining while we sleep for two days straight, and when I wake up, I want to see a small rainbow to materialize outside my window when I open the blinds, revealing below a small man with an inflatable raft and an offer to row me to the grocery store and five bucks for a couple of muffins and some juice for breakfast, then row me back home and wish me good day with a grunt and a smile."

"Mmph. Sounds nice."

"Yes it does."