Full Moon

There is a primordial woman that lives underneath my skin. Not everyone gets to touch her. She has an eternal craving for love. Not the ordinary kind. The crazy, passionate love. The kind that makes your blood boil; leaving you gasping for air. The love that defies rules. 

She is a badass woman. She won't cook you dinner. She doesn't wanna be your mother for god's sake. She will let you have her for dinner, right on the sofa; maybe after the Marvel movie marathon is over. She will do a striptease for you on your bad days. You will be wondering from where a nerdy, introverted girl like her learned such pornstar moves. You will be so disgusted by her brazenness that you will actually fall for her. Irrevocably. She doesn't give a fuck who disapproves of her. She belongs to the gods. Nothing else matters.

She doesn't think of happily ever after. She doesn't ever wanna get trapped in the delusion of soulless three bhk comfort. She's made for the sky, the mountains, and the wide open field. Let her roam freely and she will make love to you beneath the stars. She will show you the milky way leading to her naked soul. Touch her gently as she is made of open-ended nerves, and people have torn her apart many times before. Make love to her like the primeval man; because if she is impressed enough she might want to plant your seed in her womb.

She will write you poems. She will wake up early in the dawn to write you a long letter. All those words didn't let her sleep whole night. She must jot them down. Then she will make a detour and cross half the town to go to the post office. You are her best friend, remember? She wasn't kidding when she told you so.

She is grey. She is a morally dubious fallen angel. She is a lover that moonlights as serial killer. She is that werewolf who has been waiting for the moon ever since her body learned to bleed, but has always settled for mere mortals.