storms were brewing from eir ears as e lay in bed, tossing in eir sea o’ sheets, as cold as the arctic chill in this january night.
but the storms turned to soft clouds & e suddenly felt its campfire-melted marshmallow hand touch eir shoulder & responded not with words but with soft caresses all ’long eir back, sucking out the red tension till e drifted off to the cloudy depths emself.
& that is how the clouds got em.