Monday, March 7, 2011


You come toward me like summer thunder,
flashing that smile, rolling them hips,
I stand like I’m terrified,
like I just put myself in the path
of a locomotive cold front,
But I’m not afraid,
and wouldn’t move if I could.
To your storm,
I am a rock,
and you do not chip at me
with earthquakes, meteors, or lava
but with rain, soft and cool,
having it's way with me.

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