Is it true, I sometimes wonder,
that clouds kiss when I hear thunder,
that their love is seen in flashes
with the lightning and the crashes?
And when hail lands on my head,
are they throwing from their bed
evening dresses, pin-striped suits
stockings, high-heels, socks and boots?
For I wonder, when it rains,
whether clouds are cleaning stains
left behind between the sheets
where they whispered sweet deceits.