His voice is like an ocean,
Crashing over me in waves,
Consuming me instantly.
WHOOSH! Now gone.

His smile is like a fire,
Intense, flickering flames,
Uncontrollably burning.
SIZZLE! Now only ash.

His eyes are like a lake,
Reflectant pools capturing beauty,
Rippling in the storm.
DRIP! Now overflowing.

He is a mountain,
Tall, strong and proud.
Beautiful, but jagged.
Worn away with time.

Blame It On The Weatherman

The only thing worthy of release
Is the air from my lungs 
As it wades through the water 
Crashing up to the surface 
Gaining the freedom 
I so desperately crave
While I remain below the sky's reflectant