july in the breeze

when all else leaves

the monsoon doesn't

in the absence of 

the world, I smell

july in the breeze

coercing me gently

like a grandmother

with a treat

when my eyes dart around

and I'm too blind to see

when all else leaves

the monsoon doesn't

like a friend from sixth grade

peeping through the front door

with umbrella hands

and puddles for feet