spontaneous poem for the weather

[kitchen_kink]

I'm in love with a thunderstorm, but it doesn't return my calls.
I'm in love with a thunderstorm, but when I ask it inside, it runs.
My dreams are in the colors of rain, my words run off the eaves and flood the garden.
I'm in love with a thunderstorm. Even though it shouts
and shoots wild sparks at me. I don't know what makes it so angry.
But it's beautiful when it's angry.

I'm in love with the thunderstorm.
Even when it wanders off.
Even when I can count onetwothreefourfivesixseveneight and still no thunder,
just flashes teasing at my eyelids,
teasing at my eyelids,
a lover so fickle it skips town at the first sign of sun.

But this is what I know:
in the summer swelter, when I wait with my head
back, my legs apart to hold
off the sweat, my limbs slack and waiting for the
thrill of little hairs prickling on end...
it'll be back.

Comments

[gentlescholar.livejournal.com]

You feel its breath upon you,
watch it writhe above you,
moody, gray, tormented and tormenting
it makes you wet
and the room sometimes shakes with its passion.
It brings you fire and water and air,
anything but down to earth.
And you imagine yourself flying, and remember why
you are in love with a thunderstorm.

[dietrich.livejournal.com]

You just made it 10x hotter, thank you. :)

[gentlescholar.livejournal.com]

Thank you, for the poem and for the praise.