5/11/10
Quite Convinced
Your likeless clouds my mind,
dear, even more so than these
filthy grey things hanging overhead.
In rolls the wind, swifter
than yourself, darling; don't
pretend! I'm quite convinced that you
would call these very droplets settled
upon my lashes your own, were you
given the chance. Can you do no
better? Filth, hail, leaves-not quite lost...
Like boulders, crashing above my very
head. Tell me: would you, too,
chase the wind beating
at your chest, should she decide to
leave you? My dearest,
I'm quite convinced
you would. Quite convinced.
'nother one! :)