tact-ile dysfunctions of the curly-haired kind

the clouds are fat with rain.
living in the city is such a thrill
no matter how mundane the daily routine may get.

there is a strange wetness in the air,
a sultery summer wind flirting with my hair.

a melody is toying with my head,
and im rushing to put it into a song.

with a forceful beat
at my feet
i walk down the streets,
my presence leading my shadow.

there's a tingle on the tip of my tongue
as i taste the first drop
my fingers scream in ecstasy
as the world slowly comes to a stop.

there's unmatched honesty in a storm
as the lightening crashes across the skies
if you listen carefully to the booming thunder
you only hear that it never lies.

im no longer a wayward stranger
although i may appear to be
sinking, trembling no more,
steady as the sea.