words are nothing more
than the sky
crying
thunderous crystalline bolts
of pure esoteric passion
from the deepest crevices
that hide beneath my ribcage
as it expands
gently, rising
with each breath,
delicate
as my lips, purse
just so
perfect, like dreams
like pictures in magazines,
like art
like the sun and moon
how they love,
and the wind and rain
how they cry,
like the oceans and lakes
the rivers and seas,
as they quiver and quake
on the very edge
of a vortex of unbridled passion
exploding
like no nuclear fission ever fragmented
like no storm that has ever touched upon Earth
like no angels that have ever been heard singing songs of choir
like nothing
any human
has ever
experienced
except for the the rain
as it falls
ever so gently upon the roof
when unable to sleep
and like words
that are nothing more
than the sky
crying
© Susan Marie
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