Of Squalls and Tempests

You begin to see yourself as being shaped by oceanic-waves. Dressed in the muscle and fiber of restless storms. A swish of a garment, the high hem of a skirt pulls you into her flesh. Sex remakes you into something you do not recognize. A storm propels you, a womb once pushed you, into a tabular rasa, just so all the elements of fire, air and earth could produce this creature-self you now are. Even mere words can madden your mind. You wonder where and when you will set, when you will be only the mold and not the molded, suspect even, that you are but a sail for the wind. Meanwhile a hermit crab leaves its shell once more seeking the hunting cries of tempestuous seagulls.