In the middle of a scorching Indian summer, all I can do is fantasize about monsoon.
The earthy, damp smell
Tickled her nose
The naughty little raindrops
Slid gently down her back
A promise of things to come . . .
The clouds roared with desire
The thunder screamed with urgency
And the final outburst
That drenched everything in pleasure
Nature had never been sexier . . .