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Oct 2019
this is when i want you the most; when its 9 30 am and it is still gray outside because the rain came early today. press your fingertips into the dips of my waist with every roll of thunder because you are here and i am here and its dark but its still a new day. in arizona, we're lucky to get rain three months out of the year, those months are called monsoon season. heavy storms that knock over chairs and threaten windows, knock on car doors begging to be let in. we count down to the start of monsoon season and i cant help but think how beautiful it is that so many people who will never meet all look forward to this one thing. when it rains, we cry, creating our own storms and puddles on tile floors with rumbling laughter for thunder. you, dear, are a monsoon, in every sense of the word; strong and beautiful and devastating. anticipated. i count down the days, and when you finally arrive, everything is finally bright; your smile supplied its own lightning. you knock on the counties of my body and make yourself at home until its time to go. monsoons always start and end with drool and you are the same way, able to create something from nothing; incredible.
found in my closet, handwritten in july of 2017
lo
Written by
lo  18/Agender
(18/Agender)   
404
   Weedy pops
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