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Rain falls
not without warning.
So do people.

There are always signs,
the sky a different color,
or some inexpressible beauty
you just can’t put a finger to,
or tell whether
it’s coming from out there
or from within.

There are always warnings
regarding wrong places, wrong times.
Wrong kind of love.
Something won’t happen.
Something won’t work.
Something will hurt you.

But nobody warns you
it could be this wonderful.
Nobody ever takes you by the arm
and whispers, don’t go in there;
there’s so much beauty waiting.
Nobody ever gives you a heads up
that your heart has to be
a certain kind of strong
to survive that kind of happy.
Nobody ever bothers to
put up signs around Paradise,
no arrows that point to the
sliced ripe persimmon kisses
or where you can fall in line
for hand-painted surf boards or
boxes of Royce chocolate caresses.
Everybody just assumes
you will find your way in it.
The only thing available
by way of direction is the
unmistakable EXIT sign
in glowing red neon letters
and textbooks upon textbooks
on how to deal with your
broken heart, afterward.

But that would come later.
Meanwhile, there are no red flags here.
The last time I checked,
you can’t overdose in love.
And those who do, came back
from the other side with
Arabian Nights stories to tell.

The heights make me giddy,
but I’ve braced my soul enough
so I can love you.
So put your arms around me
and let’s fly and pierce
the clouds of the brewing storm.
And whatever you do,
don’t look down.

untitled photo from the image bookmarking site, WeHeartIt