Mapping The Storm

Supercells

Hurricanes corkscrew
I sense one now
building from your soft pink skin.

Black dervish
like the vanilla seeds
I stir into purees,
comfort foods, custards
I can’t quite get time to eat,
whirlwind to the walls
when your limbs flail.

Sunlight, moisture, wind
making a hammerhead,
storm nurseries breeding.

Far-flung incubations,
sweep of features,
less than two-foot long
you’re a weather factory,
I’m just mapping the storm.

Chronic rain squalls,
thunder inside me then
your electric smile strikes.

Vast reaches flashing
so I wonder how close
you still are to the elements.

Only just born
do you know better than me
how to be truly alive?