Thunder Heads

The night before the rains I ask you to grieve with me. Imprinting the line of my neck on your bicep, I rehearse your hips storying your scent. Have you not yet learned to read the sky? Did you not know that the clouds mean leaving? Prehaps you didn't believe me; perhaps the monsoon signalled something else to you. The lightening severs the horizon. For my people it has always been this way.