Sweven

Sibling Storm
Clouds rush. Crush into a twisted gob of angry grey. Stash siblings safe underearth. Spin. Face the storm. Stare straight into each others scorn. Sky shifts, roars, lurches near. I fall to fear. Fear? Fear! Breath through cinched nostrils and smile. But all hope of lucid schemes is stolen by siblings wild in the wind.

I remembered two more dreams this morning and now regret not writing them down.