Then came the storm

I murmur your name under twinkling stars.
They look at me with a mirthless air
ruing this blow, ah so unfair.
Tired, I slump down on a rock,
splashed with hues of insanity vile.
Your name resting on my parched lips
I try to come to grips
with the vicious world around.
The thirsty night dips low
to slurp on the untrammeled flow of anguish
erupting from my very being.
In one ravenous sweep, it gobbles up your name.
It now echoes in the surroundings
ricocheting against the pine trees.
And I freeze!
Like that snowman of yore, around whose stocky neck
you had wrapped your muffler
Red and warm.
Then came the storm; the turbulent storm.
Now the rock on which I sit is red.
Coloured in the hues of insanity
Still warm.

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