Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.

Tempest.

I wish I could get as close as the threads
of your winter jumper, so close that
you can feel each word falling from my glossy
lips like lightning striking the star like moles
of your forearms.

I can't quite tell you how I hope for this.
"Close." Translates to "Weakness", an empty
display of feeling sparking through you like
alarm bells. Treacherous.
But still, I could stick with this.
Writing poems where only the memory of you
creates catastrophic storms colliding together
on my thin paper.

Perfection was never quite so formulated.
Simple.

Echoed throughout the ripples of water growing
with each clap of your strong hands, with veins
like tree branches of which I long to trace back
to the roots.
I'll meet you there.
With lazy kisses on smiling cheeks, raincoats
with each-others hands held in the others pockets
and storm proof umbrellas.
I will brace your thunder, just please-

Be my damage control when my raging catastrophe
becomes too much for me to swallow.

My words are suiciding themselves down on you like
hail stones. I am scared that it's hurting you.
But I cannot help myself, I need this-
this-
This torturous tapping on the others brain like my
colossal crashing is yelling:

Don't forget me please, I am still right
here!

If it were to signify anything to your courageous
perfection, I would write the words "I love you"
6988 times over my skies so that you may take
comfort in knowing that you are far from simple contrails.
No. No you are something much more eternal than that.

I suppose you are the living reason behind our habits
to name hurricanes after people, or people after
storms. Or lovers after destruction.

"I love you"

The words hit the side walk like rain drops.
The world applauds our tempest.

I open my mouth to say it again:
And somehow....
I manage to swallow an entire sea bed.

I am an ocean -

Love me, explore me, and please:

Don't tame me.