Our Storm

I know what I’ll wear when we meet:
a dress of fire and jewels of rain.
Nothing more need brush my skin
except your gaze.

When we touch,
mountains will whisper
and trees may roar.

My heartbeat will follow
the sure sound of your step.
Nothing will need to be sung
that hasn’t flown before.

When we touch,
a storm will make way
for a new landscape.

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