I used to tread over damp ground
yet seek shelter from the rain.
Those wilted lives, half-truths
fed to half-lovers, are gone.
The hollows of your cheeks
are cracked like parched earth
from years wasted needing me to kiss you.
My storm-cloud eyes have found you
under the tallest tree, wading in the water
and when I strike
should you survive
I’ll leave my pattern on your skin
