Irene

Our love is like a hurricane.  It blows
   A squall of driving horizontal rain
Against our hearts, until it can bulldoze
   Between our reaching hands a wall of pain,
A levee for the flood we want to drown
   Our loneliness in--but we’re high and dry:
Two bitter idiots who played the clown
  To expectations and their tempting lie.
So we prepare for things that never happen.
  We make bold promises we’ll never keep.
You cut me dead and wave another chap in.
   The wind howls out your name, but I will sleep
      And face the morning drained and empty of
      All but the hope of your torrential love.

Copyright 2011 Matthew J Wells