storm

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Low clouds loom, dooming twilight

into gloom, dusk into the blackness of a hidden-moon

nocturnal tomb.

Garish winds grow more incessant,

effervescent, iridescent;

raging, though irrelevant as I

insist on lingering, beneath the skies that ravage me;

notwithstanding tendencies to

gravitate toward calmer seas.

For dVerse Quadrille #136: Let’s Linger.

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