Storm whisperer usually,
with arms outstretched,
welcoming the power
and harnessing it within,

sometimes the tempest
turns on me
and brings to the surface
things long buried 

and distorts my ability
with the stinging rain
to see clearly
through such blinding pain;

it is then that I tend to
collapse in the mirage of the puddle,
sinking fathoms deep
into the dark aqua-underworld,

forgetting how to breathe,
forgetting I have limbs,
forgetting I would float
despite forgetting how to swim.

I sink in that puddle
to the bottomless grave,
Goddess of the Storms
reduced to sedimentary ache…

And then I hear your voice,
feel your hand, then embrace.
You have come to my aid
and to the surface, I am raised.

Damn demonic puddle traps…
I should have watched better my steps…
Always looking up
careless again…

In your loving arms,
I get carried away.
You dry my soaked soul,
and together we pray.

You let me talk and cry it out
with such patience and understanding.
No one takes better care of me
in those times of such vulnerability.

I am me with you,
and you know all of me.
I unwrap your gift:
a snow globe of our dreams.

In front of our warm hearth,
I drift into the sweetest of sleep,
in the harbor of your arms,
the ripples of love lulling me,

and you stay on guard
to keep me safe,
but assure me all is well,
cradling me in your subtle strength.

I’ve never needed before,
have always taken on the world

solo.

I can get used to
being loved
by the only mate
for my soul.

Thank you, my love. ❤ 

Poem and images ©LauraDenise