We, my darling, are a tall rope-like cyclone,
stretching down from a treacherous sky to kiss the land below.

We, like a cyclone, were nonexistent in one moment,
and everything that filled the space above in the next.

We, my darling, are a beautiful disaster.
We cause destruction, but we also carry the promise of rebirth.
In our wake cities will be rebuilt atop the ruins of yesterday.

We, like a cyclone, will eventually dissipate into the atmosphere,
but for now we are the sky.

We, my darling, will swallow up everything in our path,
and leave a trail of disarray by which our route can be mapped.

You are the upwards draft, and I will always be the downward spiral.

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