The Cache

They say diamonds never breakAnd yet her heart,When it did,The golden of her hair –Rustled.Her ruby lips –Quivered.Her deep set pair of obsidian –Glistened.AndBrine traced its way.Across the silver.Of her skin.Forming along its way –A pearl.Washed ashore.On the granite.Of my hands.

Dead storms, mornings bright ft. Tanka

The storm is all dead, Instantaneously gone, Shattered by the winds: Broken glass in lucid hands, capturing sun rays alone. ~ for storms will come, and storms will go, but you will make the sun shine bright on yourself with the very things that your storms will break…