The Smell of Rain

I fled from the storm with a can of Coke.
Over city, the sky ink-dark is getting ready to get angry.
People run in all directions.
I wish I could be in Paradise.
There, the storms are poetry.
Clouds shed tears.
Work is reminding me of its existance.
I slept through most of the assembly without a string of remorse.
I am sitting on the window-sill.
Breathing the smell of rain in.