July 27, 2017.
He'll be the death of me.

he's like the weather

I thought youíd like to know that itís raining.
The roadís masked by thick fog, the sky ridden with clouds.
Pitter patters keep tap dancing on the windshield.
And Iím captivated at their repetitive sound.

And I must ask if your sky is sobbing too.
If so, is it out of sympathy or out of itís own despair?
Mineís just been silent for so long-
that suddenly it had a breakdown and now people seem to care.

Thereís this wrinkled, salt and pepper colored man smoking and looking at flowers for sale.
Bags serve as drapes under his eyes, and his laugh lines look like they have masked how much heís cried.
I overheard him talking about how the weather is so unpredictable these days.
That one day itís flooding and the next heís blinded by the sunís rays.

The more I thought about it, the more I thought about how he was describing you.
The air is heavy and humid but the sky looks cold and collapsing.
I start shivering in remembrance of those who have tried to keep me warm.
People I have pushed away to drown in my own storm.

Your eyes remind me of two cups of pitch black coffee.
Round and with my reflection staring back at me.
Steam travels up invisible dirt roads and to my nose.
I get addicted to your type of caffeine.

On days with this lingering chill, I desire your warmth.
But I never know what season your mind is in.
As our bipolar romance goes back and forth-
I struggle to walk while you push me away like leaves in the wind.

Poetry by aidan haskel
Read 348 times
Written on 2017-07-29 at 18:53

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ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
A very good work Aidan, Bravo, welcome to petbay.
Ken (d williams)