You . . .
You are a soft and gentle idea.
A feeling, perhaps.
You are a delicate shade of thunder
that rumbles with a sense of intensity
but moves in slowly to overwhelm the sky.
I am thinking of you as the sky weeps . . .
rain falls in large, drop-like tears.
The sound of wind rushes passed the homes
situated on a small quiet block.
It is daylight and still,
I am dreaming of a long slow day
that I wish would never end.
I am thinking of a couch along the wall
set below the front window of a modest home.
The long flowing drapes opened enough
for one to sit on the couch
and stare out into the empty suburban street. Continue reading
