the wind rattles the windows and I think it is you, this ghost that rises with the flash of light and rumble of Thunder, and in the dark I wait and dream, rain peppering the roof and walls, the way I want it on you, to sit secure, there in some cupboard where I might tear open the buttons of your blouse and feel both, trembling under my still chill palms, hand at the tips, perfect fit for my lips, the rattling windows, the rain on the roof and walls, and you beneath me as if I am a cloud and need to bequeath to you all that has pent up in me for so long, a deluge flooding each orifice and still unable to fill you up, windows rattling, wind blowing, me inside you for refuge, I tear at your slacks until all is exposed, rain-like into you, all I can no longer contain, this storm everlasting, me needing to break free, needing to be satisfied, when we both know it can never be so, I sit here, wind rattling the windows, rain spouting out of me but not into you
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