When It Rains

A simple poem made not too long ago, when standing outside, enjoying rare rain.

Silken, subtle, yet infatuating perfume
Dusted across the land in a light sprinkle
Gleaming like stardust.

With every drumbeat against the door
And gloomy heartbeat, it grew stronger
To fill our cold noses.

We could not help
But inhale the earthen tones
That drifts through the air.

Something compels us
To go and sniff the scented sky,
Lusting after
The smell when it rains.