Storms make a skilled sailor, they say.
Wind blows. Our boat sways.
A slight turn and we're fine, we can bend.
Clouds gather. A storm brews. Our boat rocks. Tosses.
Another attempt to bend, to be flexible, feels more like breaking.
We brace ourselves- prepared for the end, yet not prepared at all.
Coming closer, we hold our breath, our arms intertwined.
Gradually encumbered by arms of sunlight, the storm is over.
Our boat remains in tact.
Storms make a skilled lover.
