you are a thunderstorm;
when anger crackles beneath
and your veins pop

you are a thunderstorm;
when laughter bubbles out
together with a cheshire-like grin

you are a thunderstorm;
when tears pour out
with choppy breathing

you are a thunderstorm;
when in his arms
and when not

you are a thunderstorm;
cold and electrifying,
but beautiful.

Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and my rain pelts down harsher than the
words you spit
in vehement violence
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and my lightening strikes brighter than the
empty promises you made
(brighter, but just as fleeting)
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and my rage is vast, immeasurable
filling oceans with its ferocity
Darling, I'm a thunderstorm
and this too will pass, leaving
chaos in its wake.

a symphony orchestra.
there is a thunderstorm,
they are playing a Wagner overture
and the people leave their seats under the trees
and run inside to the pavilion
the women giggling, the men pretending calm,
wet cigarettes being thrown away,
Wagner plays on, and then they are all under the
pavilion. the birds even come in from the trees
and enter the pavilion and then it is the Hungarian
Rhapsody #2 by Lizst, and it still rains, but look,
one man sits alone in the rain
listening. the audience notices him. they turn
and look. the orchestra goes about its
business. the man sits in the night in the rain,
listening. there is something wrong with him,
isn't there?
he came to hear the
music.