Stormy Weather

Your forehead smells like rain

He tells me when I return home

Though the sidewalks are dry as bone

And there are flowers clenched in my fist

He breathes in the wetness from my skin

Unaware he has stuck his nose in a mist

As I am anything but concrete

He puts me to bed in the tub

And the flowers in some jar

As we both drink up the water

And make our bellies plump

In the morning the flowers have burst

Into their colorful, masterful bloom

While I got out too soon

Having started to wither and wilt

Dripping from the tips

Of my fingers and jet black hair

Watching the liquid pool at my feet

As I melt he only can stare

And although I am not grey,

Fluffy white, or pink,

Still, I am a floating creature

Encapsulating moisture

A cloud

In the truest sense of the term

◄ The Yard

Commuter ►

Comments

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AM Cash

Fri 24th Mar 2017 22:46

Oh the rain x the winter was too wild x

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Alexandra Rockwell Lorenz

Wed 1st Feb 2017 05:55

Graham-- that's very kind of you. I am pleased with how it came out and am glad I spent some time playing around with it.

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Graham Sherwood

Tue 31st Jan 2017 23:14

I think this is my favourite piece from you so far Alexandra. There's not a weak line in it!

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Alexandra Rockwell Lorenz

Tue 31st Jan 2017 21:16

Thank you, Juan. Your comments are always a cheerful thing to see.

Have a good one.

Alex

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Juan Pablo Lynch

Tue 31st Jan 2017 20:33

Your poems always amaze me.
It is very hard to pinpoint who is the persona of this poem at first.I felt like it was a cloud all along but it wasn't until you confirmed it in the last two lines that I was at ease with my inference.
Great piece as usual Alex.

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