“I don’t believe god is after me, if he were, the first strike would have been enough” – Roy Sullivan, a park ranger who was struck by lightning seven separate times. He took his own life after the seventh strike due to crippling loneliness”
Least expected, seizure or symphony?
spark,
Turn and touch my cheek.
She danced yellow, like a thousand fireflies.
The lightning says:
“My heart skips beats when you’re with me.”
If this were a bell curve I’d be dead last.
We were
secret lovers at the ranch near Heaven’s gate.
Near because I was never allowed
into His kingdom, for my wings were not yet real
She fell from the sky
seven times
like wedding vows
I stood on burnt wings like Icarus, if he were unlucky.
She was real, abrasive and shocking.
She was perfect
and I was
by lightning, loved.
Hips brushing past one another, friction between clouds.
My cries echoed like thunder, the sun
rarely shone
on the crux of my nose where my eyebrow ended,
or the lines
going down my back
like a painting of her.
The only “she” closest to me now is the static from the cumulonimbus.
Alas, the thunderclap could not take me.
So I’m taking matters into my own hands.
A shame,
I will never find a greater love than the apoplexy left by her kiss.
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