Storm, My Love

There is no wooing, for I won’t tolerate the attempts.  The heat, the wind, the dryness has risen up in despairing anger but not revenge.  He knows he has won.  There was a time that his whispered love and soft rain would calm me, soothe me but then bring about the cold north winter wind that had suddenly gone dormant in me.  I would be encased in my icy defense which he could not yet melt. 

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The south summer wind blows in persistent and dry.  He yellows the tender green of the grass and coats the deep jade leaves of the trees with brittle dust.   The soft whisper of promised winter has abandoned me to this southern intruder and confuses my mind and body with wants I will not utter.  My silence only angers him and the wind that dries raises to gale force.

Beneath my bare feet, I feel the needle point prick of dead vegetation.  Curling my toes down into the powder soft dirt that was soft and moist with promise not seven short weeks ago enrages me.   My rage radiates out and meets the high, sharp southern wind, that is he and the two of us mix in a tangle of rising storm and confusion.

My body daggers down deep and hisses scintillating curses at that which has no substance for wounding, only spirit to rise in surprise and defense.  His pushes my attack down pinning my fight to the ground, stinging my eyes so that I must shut them in defense and pulling my breath from my body in a long agonizing kiss.

There is no wooing, for I won’t tolerate the attempts.  The heat, the wind, the dryness has risen up in despairing anger but not revenge.  He knows he has won.  There was a time that his whispered love and soft rain would calm me, soothe me but then bring about the cold north winter wind that had suddenly gone dormant in me.  I would be encased in my icy defense which he could not yet melt.

Those days are gone and the anger over my resistance and time wasted has now brought about the scorched earth that my lover, burns about me in moaning, confused, merciless dry wind.  His heat will not be deceived by my feigned surrender.

My voice cries out in pain.  The death of my struggle is perpetrated by a fire that plunges him deep into what I have kept hidden from myself and we are flesh and bone for a moment.  He is standing over me, my hands upon his feet, I in complete abasement, the blood of my body boiling out his name.  Our union is tearing, pulling, searing fire.  I am a conflagration that blazes up in glorious flame which reflects in his eyes and is continually fed by the will of his hands.

Then I am ashes upon his skin, floating and dancing upon the heat of his existence and swirling upon the song of his wavering friction that warns the atmosphere about us to keep distant while  I must regain the ice of what makes me…me.

“Look at me,” his voice is met upon my skin cooling me into the truth of who I am.

I turn to gaze upon his features, there in mesmerizing scars and haggard expression of age and pain I see the human that he has been, cocooned away in burning glass and fragile flame.  I kiss with gentle lips the molten heat that pools upon the curve of his neck.  I have only hovered over the freezing water of release and hold in frozen ecstasy the broken and soft essence of his beauty.

Sleep deep with me my love, in this deep dark frozen blue then upon waking bring about the fire of brilliant passion in burning revealing flame – this is my frozen reflection.

Author: SK Woodiwiss and SW Woodiwiss

We are writers. We love flash fiction, short stories, poetry, and novels. We love to write ghost stories but have tried our hand at simple conversations, inner fears and peeked into the madness of the mind. Our greatest love is the novel and its ability to explore character development. We simply enjoy the writing process.

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