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Two Clouds
By livid moon's speckled smoor
droun'd amid two mounting citadels,
wind a'blur, blue in satin stains of memory
sat in wait, I for her and she for I.
Two clouds deigned fit to cry of it
until we should arrive.

An aching glow's nearness,
lust's suture at the vent between two times.
Sound along closed-in stranded strains,
linoleate lines of fate, she and I obliterate
while clouds, parched dry from tizzy fit
still waiting whilst we deliberate.

Rivers in perpetuum
wend past this flood's eternal curls
as stars rebound softly on stern bricks of enmity
scat absurd - patterns learned - then all must lie
to clouds alone, who cannot fly
supposing love had lately died.

For wishing love, to find lust at best,
breathes as like cement-cast linguiform,
silent word forms spoken from shuttered eyes.
In light form, visions heard, inform us -
and for all that who could wait for clouds?
Stipula non signum, owed of day they pay our night.

Lovers set beneath two clouds
whetted from the source, at distant seas
and in our course lest all become no more than dreams
sat in wait for you and I, yet I cannot foresee
two clouds forever cry of us -
as sweet as that would be.
Copyright © 2006, Ben Kross

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