I find comfort in the news
Be it typhoons or drones
I feel like a 100 year old Camus
For he was a miserable little raccoon
Or should I say Morrissey?
But the bipolar king is lost at sea!
I think of Sylvia Plath and her oven
Incinerated in a jar or in a coffin?

I will mention roses in a second
But first, wear your veil
May I eat your cheeks?
I’m your psychopath with style

We bathed in herbs together
The pale ******* that shone
A reoccurring dream of two moons
I believe in reincarnation
bosoms, as the lunar eyes of an owl

Stars, rain, coffee, cigarettes and music
Few clichés, I forgot about your roses
One day I’ll strike the balance
between rhymes and passion

I am a tempest,
     the most violent of
     winds whipping around
     without concern for any
     who surround me. 

I am a volcano,
     the lava of my emotions 
     exploding up and over
     to seep throughout
     every nook and crevice. 

I am a typhoon,
     my gale force winds
     showing mercy to
     neither sea nor land as
     I rip-roar over it all. 


And you…
     you are the halcyon tranquility
     I've been searching for
     all along, the serenity needed 
     to calm my frenzied turbulence
     with but a stroke of your lips,
     leaving me breathless and
     my winds settled at long last.