Ode to the little storm

You can push my clothes,
You can push my hair,
You can push the curtain away;
But my body remains erect,
My vision remains erect,
And you can’t push them in anyway.
I do like you fierce,
But fierce will not scratch me,
It may move me good,
If my will wills,
It may raise me high,
If my mind is.
But you are sweet,
Like the salt of humidity,
Your little caresses and kisses,
Like the child’s swing in sky,
Conditioning my mind and heart,
Remitting the day’s effort,
Undoing the clandestine meet with the sun;
Your breath blows unhackneyed each time,
Renewing passions of inner me.
Should I fight you or love?
Breathe you or live you?
Should I dance or meditate,
Smile or lose my mind;
Where do you come,
You are neoteric,
To love,
To peace,
To life,
To me.