There are no thunderstorms in California

+

There are no thunderstorms in California.

Oh, how I adore the smell of the wet warm earth after a storm. How I would wait to hear thunderous crackle, to see the sparks forged from the sky. But nothing.

There are no thunderstorms in California.

Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine your sound. I imagine the raindrops that would gently kiss my skin, opening my pores in the most delightful way. I would jump, puddle to puddle racing through the tall grass. Just me and the elements. Once the lightning struck, I would then run into a small stone home. Where it would be warm inside from the fireplace, just in the living room. What a perfect mixture of smoked wood and petrichor. If you open all the windows, you could get a view of the long stretch of land, never ending. Silently, I would watch as the Heavens struck Earth.

There are no thunderstorms in California, but when I close my eyes anything is possible.

The Romantic

+

Water spewing from the fountains in Italy or maybe it was France.

Another place, another time.

Somewhere on the Northern Hemisphere, where we met.

Surrounded by many,

but like none.

They didn’t know it,

but I did.

The sunlight kissed our skin from the heavens above.

Honey and pastel hues of pinks and blues,

back to the days, when I loved you.

What sweet undertones with ever growing addictive fumes.

There were many assorted delights,

in our picnic of two.

Where I enjoyed the simplest things in life,

like the presence of you.

Easily saying whatever it was that came to mind.

The feeling of your skin on mine.

The taste of strong ales and rosé,

my guess of your favorite of wine.

In this moment time seemed to stop

as if you and I could forever control the clock.

The perfect rhyme, a pleasing hymn, for a ever so bitter, but lovely end,

to the tale of the romantic and her imaginary friend.