A poem by a beautiful soul I knew only through the internet as “@biz”:
I Tell My Sister I Don't Like It When It Rains.
And she says, before I can finish,
Oh, I love when it rains. I love it.
I say, again, more quietly, that I don't like it.
She says, more loudly, she loves it.
We don't speak of thunder but it comes anyway and it's morning still so the lightening is traceless.