The Secret Storm
The right handed division was busy keeping the left hand’s low moral contained somewhere out of sight.
This gilded fable of flame and glory clouded the horizon.
The darkest recesses of the Deep Blue began stalking our beachside cave.
Slowly stealing kisses silently on the sand while each glide of the tide slinked closer and closer.
I recognize this moment,
This mating call of the Sea-in heat-with nothing but pure beant up sexual frustration.
This was a physical need begging to be released.
Instead was only magnified by the empty absence.
A tingly typhoon was my only thanks.
Thanks for denying myself a shattering earthquake filled with only my deepest passions.
While the most silent of secrets find volume in the company of forgotten sins,
Threatening to leak out everything from all the cracks in the walls throughout this depressing monsoon.
Thankfully no one pointed out the dripping content from the roof
-which i hate to admit, happened more often than not,-but I guess we all require certain delusions.
The storm, I began finding sarcastically sunny,
Stalked most of my buried secrets, bringing with it a sharp damp discomfort.
Blowing every misguided intention we could think up on the wind.
Slowly wind was inhaling feathered air-overflowing and building up gusts-
Only to release a whisper of a breeze that had the strange scent of secret agendas dressed up in the guise of stormy showers.
I could see the eye of the storm coming for me everywhere.
From the ocean floor to blocking out the sun-it was coming for me-It was thirsty for battle.
My only thoughts in the last seconds of my life were:
What happened to the notorious calm before the storm?
OR am I truly so lucky I didn’t need one?
