is it monsoon yet?

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do you like me only when i'm alone?
when i'm naked? when i'm without my grace and the sparks in my eyes? when you tear down every piece of trust i had for you? when i'm truly, truly bare with no thoughts and opinions?

you like it. you like your women meek, it's evident the way your true skin sheds off when i run around for you. the red wine you poured for me tasted like the essence of your blood, it's consuming me whole, i don't care, it's the only way i can feel you in me.

i kiss your neck, your chest, your lips, to last me for the times you will be gone. and when you do, i write you letters, long ones and put my despair and love in kraft envelopes, cry over it, tear it apart along with my heart.

you say your love's seasonal. she's summer, i'm monsoon, the third lady's for the spring and maybe a fourth one for the snow. it rains and i dance around in a yellow dress with you in the pouring rain. when it stops, my imagination ends and see you sleeping beside me. where is my yellow dress? why am i crying again? why are you not holding me? but i watch you breathe as you're wrapped around my white duvet, i'm happy you're here but i've never felt so alone.

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