Rain ☔

Your Hands
          	
          	by Pablo Neruda
          	
          	
          	When your hands leap
          	towards mine, love,
          	what do they bring me in flight?
          	Why did they stop
          	at my lips, so suddenly,
          	why do I know them,
          	as if once before,
          	I have touched them,
          	as if, before being,
          	they travelled
          	my forehead, my waist?
          	Their smoothness came
          	winging through time,
          	over the sea and the smoke,
          	over the Spring,
          	and when you laid
          	your hands on my chest
          	I knew those wings
          	of the gold doves,
          	I knew that clay,
          	and that colour of grain.
          	The years of my life
          	have been roadways of searching,
          	a climbing of stairs,
          	a crossing of reefs.
          	Trains hurled me onwards
          	waters recalled me,
          	on the surface of grapes
          	it seemed that I touched you.
          	Wood, of a sudden,
          	made contact with you,
          	the almond-tree summoned
          	your hidden smoothness,
          	until both your hands
          	closed on my chest,
          	like a pair of wings
          	ending their flight.
          	
          	
          	
          	
          	
          	
          	P.S.
          	You (you know i am talking about you) , please come back soon. 
          	I miss you
          	☔Rain