The delicate garments of your soul decorate the chambers of everywhere the wind swirls.
Disasters not of natural but of diamonds and lava.
A tempest of love, of unrest, of above.
The realm of mortal where heaven dips into the rising hell is where your storm carries one upon its crest.
Should eyes pour of clear pearls and flood the world, I will stay my breath and swim the depths.
Never leaving the sorrows, in search of ever leafing tomorrows.
-M