It's arid here. It's always been. Arid and brown, and listless and lifeless. And just that.
It never rains here. It never really rains here. It drags, this infinite wait. And I wait. A piece of green grass, a tiny bit of emotion, an orgasm. To feel again. Life.
I long for rain. Rainy days and drenched clothes. And grey skies. And melancholy. And fireplaces and hot cocoa. Numbness no more, washed away. I want life-giving moisture. All consuming moisture: in the air, surrounding me. Moisture between my legs. Life.
Who would have guessed?
An orchestra in my chest, the simple tone of a ring. And the sound of your voice. Then it rains. And it's green. And it's drops of laughter and storms of words. It's shaking body's, it's thunder and lightning fire. Moans and beautiful curses and names and moisture. And it's orgasmic flood. Feeling and dreaming. Life.
It's raining. It's raining YOU.
And I'm smiling. I'm soaked.
Life