voyeurism

the sky flashed white and hot outside the window,

and the air so heavy and tense and restless finally broke

with a groan of thunder.

rain falls like a beaded curtain in a doorway:

it has not begun a storm's staccato,

but the clouds crack and crackle.

lightning shimmers aggressively,

silhouetting the trees and rooftops in brief moments,

but the thunder remains languid, caressing.

it is black and quiet,

and thunder and lightning play with each other as lovers.

thunder's fingertips skitter across the sensitive sky,

lightning its bright and needy punctuation.

they speak to each other, the flash and the growl:

I kneel at my window, watching the conversation,

the air, the silhouettes and the rain.