Stormsurge…

early August swelter
banana leaf shaped
fan blades
spin 15 feet above my head
the old plaster ceiling
full of cracks and divots
my eyes follow the broken rhythm
of the lines
as if they were etched
by a low slung blues guitar
graffitiing my field of vision
with morse coded messages
as we lay tangled in linen
your damp hair is like a cold compress
on my aching soul
a wave of magnolia flows
across my face
as you settle in place
your fingers tracing across my chest
speaking a powerful pantomime
sign language to my heart
I sigh a pleadful prayer
for mercy
for there is no doubt in my mind
in Nola
May through November
you, are the goddess
of hurricanes

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About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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3 Responses to Stormsurge…

  1. Rita says:

    Damn, Brother of Mine. When you swing, it goes to the stratosphere ❤️

  2. Wow, I’ve never seen a hurricane written about like this. I always think of how sad the destruction and very scary. You are brave!

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