Tammy Nuzzo-Morgan
The Storm
Howling wind brushes budding branches
against our pasta-poor home.
Moonlight dances shadows
across our nesting room.
Rain beats deeper upon
a slightly opened window,
allowing sprinkles to moisten
our just-loved faces.
I catch glimpses of the
smiling corners of your
thoroughly kissed mouth.
Lying within the garden there are
No snakes,
No fruit,
No booming voices.
No condemnation.
No you.
No I.
Only us.
I take you into the belly of me.
I love me best,
"Me"
which is only another word for you.
And after, as with all storms,
there is calm, sleep, and dreams.
Then to wake to morning's light
and your Michelangelo finger that
draws me back to your side
to fill the chasm within your ribs.
Page(s) 29
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