It started as a shower and became a cyclone.
I waited and waited,
whirling through the war that I waged when you weren’t looking.
It was a rare moment of solitude,
because I’d lived under your looking glass for a long time,
long admired and long suffering,
because you like dark haired girls, with dark eyes that hold dark secrets.
That’s how it feels to be loved by you,
an act of angelic cruelty from a world as sweet as cherries.
You wept as you worked your way up my body with trembling lips,
trying to keep hold of me as I went the way of the rain,
fading away as the weather changed.