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Spring
Storm
The manifestation of thoughts,
The creation of ideas
Sparked and jolted as if
By lightening, although
Frightening at times,
Can be so sweet and
Tender as to render one
Limp with anticipation
Of the realization of
The matter in mind,
And so it was with
The raindrop that kissed
My lips in the spring storm,
Could it be your teardrop
From your visit to Venice,
A splash from your dip
In the fountains of Trafalgar,
A touch of perspiration
From the hot sands of Rio,
And the storm surged though
The night, ebbing and flowing
Thrusting and resting, and then
Thrashing again like the hips of
Lovers feasting for the first time
Since the dawn of creation.
Stephen Nesbitt ©
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