The Smell of Rain

The lake was the color of red wine,

and the earth smells of rain.

My skin was tattooed with that smell.

When I walked through the door, you

kissed my skin, and told me you loved the smell

of rain, that you could never leave what you love.

I walked through the garden, an unfamiliar place

within this concrete jungle. I walked through the door,

you kissed my skin, and told me you could never get

used to the smell of flowers. I stood outside in the rain.

Last night, I saw you with her in the garden.

Surrounded by flowers, you kissed her skin.

You got used to the smell.

You never even liked the smell of rain.

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