poetry

Storm Brewing- a poem

She plucks eyelashes from

her eyes,

and a strand or two of hair.

She brews a storm,

snow flies through your

bedroom window.

The clouds,

they form

above your head

and follow you

wherever it was you went.

 

She brews revenge

in her cauldron.

Her blackened eyes

and her strained soul

brew a second

pot to-go.

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2 thoughts on “Storm Brewing- a poem”

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