the pitter-patter of droplets upon my windowpane
tap relentlessly
blowing left & right
remind me of the storm we once created
now settled deep into my mind

oh, to get swept up in your storm
the intensity of your words
the passion brewing & spilling over
the constant wind whipping & striking
before the longest lull

most nights i now sit and wait
for your storm
to consume me,
to save me
from this lull

What about when the heart knocks back?

Bloom: A Poem — Thistle Thoughts

your hands, your kiss
I have been held and kissed before
but nothing like this

what is it about your hands, your kiss
that makes me believe
that nothing compares to this

I could see into others’ eyes
I could hold someone else’s hands
but I don’t feel their soul like you feel mine