Gray Cloud

So maybe I'm a gray cloud in a humid sky,
my sweat is real like fool's gold in a fountain,
bob for it and rise with
water dribbling from your beard,
wipe away sorrow as if it's rainbow drops,
glistening with insight gleaned
from supermarket gossip,
pure shock jock clean.

Is that lettuce fresh?
If I knew I'd tell you,
not flinch from your query
like some outcast casually
asked the time of day,
so why do you ask?

The sun is relentless in
pursuing your eyes,
you can shade them but never hide,
perhaps you find the light disturbing?
like revealing your nakedness to the street
and wildly laughing,
beauty perhaps,
but more twisted limbs and feckless abandon;
good for some.

So I list to starboard taking on tears,
a gray cloud in humid sky.