She Speaks Like Clouds That Blush At Noon

She speaks like clouds that blush at noon,
All puffed with pride and sweet deceit.
They drift, they dance, they hum a tune
Then vanish swift on teasing feet.

Her voice, a curl of silver mist,
That mocks to storm but brings no rain.
A breath, a breeze, a whispered tryst,
Then off it floats, no trace of pain.

I’d chase that sound cross hill and dale,
As suncharmed clouds elude the trees.
She laughs and then I lose the trail,
My thoughts undone by a gentle breeze.

So let her speak and let me fall,
For clouds may pass, but I’m enthralled.