I Wait
On a euphoric evening in July,
you run in the garden alley,
the southern breeze brushes
your sculpted shoulders softly.
Your disheveled swirling hair
covers the winsome face in a web.
You dance like a peacock,
courting the clumps of clouds.
Your fleeting feet fan dust in the air,
take you onto the wings of the gale,
you become the wind in an instant,
as I longed to be a leaf,
blown by you to lodge on your lips.
I wait.
On a dismal dusk in July,
the wind stops to waft suddenly,
the trees don’t even breathe.
The eastern sky turns into somber slate,
wrapped with wet cloud that cascades
with the thunder splitting the sky.
It tells me loudly to look out,
the storm would be coming soon
with the wild wings spread wide
to drift away the dislodged leaf.
I open the closed window,
turning into a leaf,
I wait.
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February 13, 2023
For Brian Strand's Your Selection Again Contest
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