The air is moist in the dark before morn.

Clouds gather above, but the fog's not yet in.

And in that seething tower of vapor,

Silent lightning strikes and I think of her.

Naught stirs the stillness; no rain dares to fall.

Deep within the lifeless quiet, she calls.

As the wind passes, through empty spaces,

Her soft, hollow song through my heart races.

She is my yearning; she is the absence

I taste in the bitterness of substance.

The sky looms large and light flashes above;

No thunder reverbs like the throes of love.

Only the dew which gathers on my skin

Reminds me I once felt, and may again.

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