Rain on wet pavement at 2 a.m. Is how I wanna feel. Does that make sense?
And I could tell you how he tasted on my tongue, sweet like tea with entirely too much honey.
I could point to the mole on his lower back and tell you it resembles how feeling the first rain drop fall on your cheek during a summer storm is.
Or that when he’d kiss me it’s like I was air and he was starving himself of oxygen just so he could bite my lip.
Loving him was loud, drunk with laughter, his eyes glassy, cheeks rosy.
He’d vomit up all of the bad things he thought into my hands, tears like a torrential hurricane.
God he was a bad storm,
words that struck like lighting,
closed off and far away,
brooding clouds and grey eyes that made you want to look away but you couldn’t.