08-20-2014, 01:07 AM
Hey Chris, I like the extended metaphor. I think you could have taken it a bit further. I have a similar themed poem (indoor storm at least), although I took it to the extreme (some thought to far 
): Crib Death
The tempest has finally weakened,
remnants of the storm lingering
in the open-air room.
Hard flesh is kneaded to softness
as anger and doubt briefly yield
to tenderness and desire.
The proverbial calm returns too soon
and begins its cycle once more,
a stifling heat settling over bare skin.
They do not speak; they do not touch.
They simply lie in silence, waiting
for a favorable wind to blow.
I hope I have given you some suggestions for your next edit. See what you think. Cheers/Chris
): Crib DeathThe tempest has finally weakened,
remnants of the storm lingering
in the open-air room.
Hard flesh is kneaded to softness
as anger and doubt briefly yield
to tenderness and desire.
The proverbial calm returns too soon
and begins its cycle once more,
a stifling heat settling over bare skin.
They do not speak; they do not touch.
They simply lie in silence, waiting
for a favorable wind to blow.
I hope I have given you some suggestions for your next edit. See what you think. Cheers/Chris
My new watercolor: 'Nightmare After Christmas'/Chris