My Sister, She Married a Stone

My sister, she married a stone.
High on a hill overlooking the
soft blue French Riviera they sit.
She touches him, leaning in with
a chaste kiss.  She considers the
depth of him profound and thinks
one day to linger with him there,
quietly, and breathless at the last.

Me, I married the rain.  It comes
and goes - this gender then that.
Cloudbound for days, a tease,
then the deluge.  My neighbors
curse him then pray for his return,
measure him in inches and have
falsely married him to thunder,
who I am not, and the wind, who
I long to be, eager for perfect union.

My sister, she married a stone,
he in dark grey suited to business,
she with the flowers in her hair,
barefoot, content and secure.
Me, I married the rain in the rain
and I hope he comes tomorrow

as the rent is two months overdue.