words that wont mean anything unless you let them

I love writing stuff, and I havent done too much poetry in a while, lately I have kind of been experimenting with metaphors. I'm going to post my favorite, please tell me what you think =]. It's open to interpretation, as always.

We Make The Sun Shine

She walked like the rain into the illusion that they painted inside of their minds. He melted like the sun smiling down on a hurricane from high above the clouds. But the rain was far below and only could fall further, and the sun was too high and couldn’t penetrate through the clouds. Regardless of the situation, it seemed inevitable that they should each fall in love, seeing is that is what people do. The sun gazed at its rain and longed to feel what it did, its everlasting love which we have insisted is so necessary for survival, but could only fantasize what it meant to feel. The sun was unable to fall, after all that would defy the rules of gravity, and so it remained still with everything else falling around him instead.
But she was always falling. She didn’t even think much of it because she fell so often. The more drops on the same person, and the harder it was to wash off. But the rain never stained for long, it would always go away, even if it left the victim drowning in a puddle of her beauty. She spilled over them and washed away their senses—they drank her with greed and used her for survival, they swam through her pools, arms reaching for the sun, and yet they died in her storms and the disasters she unleashed.
There was always somewhere farther to fall. Not even the earth was the bottom, for there was ground to be soaked through, plants to make grow, dirt to make mud and clay. Sometimes she came as ice and shattered her believers, sometimes as snow, which froze their dreams. Occasionally she was merely humidity and obscurely tortured their minds with her invisibility. She was always there and there was no escaping, but they loved her for the life she created, and they loved her for the death she brought, and she never stopped falling into their love.
His warm arms couldn’t reach their bodies because her clouds blocked the only path. What would it feel like to run his rays over their faces and touch their skin? To wrap his sphere around their bodies and share with them his warmth? What would they share with him? Could he ever know what it was like to lick their pale skin and paint it brown instead? But her stormy clouds never ceased, and he was left to do no more but dream. As he saw it, love was not about falling, but about reaching, and searching. He could not feel the associated desire, the care, the passion, but only imagine the perfection.
He began to doubt if love even existed. After all, he was denied the feeling, and was left to base his opinion on dreaming alone. It didn’t make any sense to him that the strangled mess of a world could possibly be created off of something as magical as the concept of love. After all, wasn’t it hate that was drowning the sailors during the storm? Wasn’t it lust that brought the cups of water to their lips? Wasn’t it desire that moistened the soil and nurtured new flowers? He concluded that love must be fictional, and she just couldn’t see above the clouds. But was he just in love with her too and couldn’t understand that because he had never felt her cool moisture sizzle his scorching glow?
Could the sun love the rain that would put out its fire forever? Could the rain love the sun that dried her puddles? She never understood what love was; because she only knew that it was something she must perform in order to keep them alive. The sun never knew that he knew, but he knew it all the same, because he could see what love truly was, instead of thinking it was something he had.
The clouds rolled away and disappeared as if they had never been there. The light was blinding. The truth was unbearable. He looked at her and whispered the only words he knew. “We make the sun shine.”