My love for you
is like blue skies
and I see you . . . .
A dove in a tree . . .
I yearn for you
to fly through the blue skies of my love.
Please fly in the warmth of my heart, which is the sun
that touches your face with light.
Please fly in the caress of my arms, which is the wind
that feels your wings in flight.
But you do not want to fly in these blue skies . . . .
Blue skies turn gray.
I begin to rain down tears, raindrops . . . raindrops . . .
raindrops . . . raindrops . . .
that you bathe in and quench your thirst with.
I thunder in pain and scream out flashes of lightning . . . . Echoes of light . . .
Maybe . . . you do hear me . . . but do you need this storm?
What about the chorus of the raindrops?
Do you not hear the tears say “I love you” before each one kisses your sacred body?
I feel so empty.
I miss you.