Clouds
They swirl and twirl like the pool of emotion lying dormant in my stomach.
The excitement of the moment is trapped in my memory, until I can no longer recollect the way the sun shades the sky.
Elation is a fickle feeling.
As inconsistent as the waves and tide,
the pattern of the beat to which I speak is always changing, never the same melody twice.
As the ballet of song is played through your tounge, the pages in my mind flutter, never finding a moments rest.
The air churns throughout the room around me, giving off the illusion of wind.
The watercolors dance among the sky,
presenting the warmth I can only locate within the iris of my lungs.
