If I were a cloud
and not a white fluffy cloud
– but a dirty grey storm cloud –
I would shake my acid rain
to fall like sweat atop your skin
and burn you with the rancid drops
that swirl inside my filthy ocean

And with the might of a lion
I would roar your name
when my tempest was ripe

And when it pleased me
I would shoot arrows of light
from my electric soul
straight into your blinded
love-sick heart…

were I a cloud

© Tamara Natividad | pisceanesque.com | Written 14 July, 2010