White Sheet Lightning
In starts up the staircase, in fits to the room,
as swathes of ocean meet, melt and form again.
In measures, colours decrease in the steam,
as in my roof-top white sheet lightning dream.
Catacomb village, sandlewood your skin,
I’m your tether’s end, you’re my everything.
Oh honey biscuits, when I sensed you’d outdone me,
could have forged up the mountain, I left for the forgery.
Striking a claim for us, apply the flame to us, softly.
It’s a delicate business, and you know just how to charge me.
Is that something taking shape, is that something taking flight?
So carried away, lightening, sheets of white.
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