I watched as the rain fell from her stormy eyes. The mist rising with her mystery, unsure if any of this was real.
As the unlucky forecast passed, the fog arrived. Under her abstract, sharp nose I watched the smoke leave. Her lips were rough, chipped and cut; worn out by the oblivious addictions that might be haunting us all.
I remember when she still seemed happy. Playing her favourite songs and dancing in the rain that once symbolised the beginning. Naked innocence radiated from her.
I hadn't loved her then. She was most beautiful when she was mad. Forbidden words sounded like lullabies leaking from her tongue and her punches felt like soft blows of kisses.
I selfishly absorbed her misery and used her love. Straining to keep her mad, and beautiful.
The fog cleared. Silence followed. The presence of the humidity engulfed us with unfathomable pebbles. Beauty prevailed.
a poem i wrote on the sheep meadow.