Storm Brewers

I try to weather my own hands:
storm brewers, thunder clap;
and my open mouth around a name
that sounds like your name
if you listen hard enough.
Still, sometimes my shaking wakes you
– makes the walls tremble
and our photographs fall to the ground.
Sometimes the shattered glass even sounds like rain.
I wanted to say,
I never thought I’d be the kind of woman who could hurt you,
but in the dark, you hold these hands between us;
you kiss my fingertips until we fall asleep
against the dying wind,
and you love me.
I’ll never know why, but you love me,
and somehow I can feel the clouds passing overhead.


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