The speaker opens with a confession: he searches the sky the way someone else might search a lover's face, and it is all he has. That line sets a quiet, slightly lonely tone, but what follows is joyful rather than sad. On a trip outside to urinate, a mundane moment, he catches the smell of rain and can't get enough of it. He faces the dark sky and breathes in deeply, almost greedily, as if the air were something to be drunk.
The ending is small and funny and tender. His glasses are soaked, so he has to feel around for a cloth, and the cloth seems softer than any skin. That comparison echoes the lover's face from the start, suggesting that the simple touch of cotton, or the rain itself, can satisfy a hunger for closeness. The mood is intimate, humble, and full of gratitude for ordinary sensations.