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Thunder Storm
We touched like lightning. All the sane parts of me running for cover. Afraid of the danger. Leaving a part of me content to lie here forever. Heart racing from the flash. Basking in the morning warmth. Paralyzed by soft strands of morning light.
I could lie here forever.
Until the thunder came. And I don't know why I was surprised. It had to come. It always comes. But by thunder I mean a vacuum. But why should I be surprised? It always comes. Not an empty vacuum. Not a vacuum that consumes itself. Pulling everything and anything inside, filling the nothing that defines it. That's inside me. This vacuum was outside me pulling dead skin and dirt into a bag with a crash of thunder. Thunder that could ruin this lightning strike. I was so afraid. Not because of the thunder. Not because of the vacuum. But because of the lighting. Thunder ends lightning. Doesn't it? And that's when I asked if the buzz of a vacuum can be romantic. Yeah, it can. At least it is for me. I just hope it can be for you too. That maybe love isn't just a string of words put together to define. But that it's bigger than that. Bigger than me. Bigger than us. As if us was even real. This was just a lightning strike. And we all know that only happens here once. But for me?
I could lie here forever.
Love As Lightening
that strikes only once. Very romantic. Why do they call it a vacuum cleaner - does it clean vacuums? Just wondering :D
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pp ps: welcome to postpoems poet.