Saturday, September 20, 2008

The Gifts of Clouds

Thunderous rain has begun to spill from deep red clouds. They gather like over-stuffed pillows, releasing their unending desire at a torrential pace. The fairylands of the lower clouds have been decimated, the rainbows that hide during the day have fled for brighter skies in the north. The little people have drowned, the ones that cover themselves in blue markings, like permanent childhood etches upon their pale white flesh. Their floating bodies have added layers of blue texture in the rising waters. Lifeless, but moving, they are one with the element they worship above all others. Towards the outer edges of the world, there are murmurings and questions posed to the clouds that gather and produce each day, then vanish as the light begins to fade. The questions are never revealed to a listening ear, there will never be an audible answer. They do as they wish, answering to none. Even the winds remain silenced by the force of their watery pulses. There are some who sit in treetops, in the upper branches of towering eucalyptuses. The long silvery leaves are fragrant in the elemental mix of water and air.
Naked and pierced, a slender girl holds onto the thickest branch with her strong thighs. Her legs drawn tightly around the smooth limb that seems to return her affection. Her hands are free, they sway, moving without rhythm to the constant tap of raindrops. Her petite head, covered in long tendrils of wet brown hair is turned up to meet the rain with an open mouth. Small beads roll down her pink tongue, leaving miniscule trails of their descent. Small pools have collected in the space of her closed eyes and each new addition sends a quiver from her heart to her toes. Raindrops fall upon her by the hundreds and she feels each one. Each, like a unique kiss sent by one with no mouth.
A kiss lands on her small toe, another on her right breast, another on her cheek. They land en masse, they land as one. Like a sponge for their attention, she keeps herself open to their language. Each ting a small communication, touched by the roaring clouds above. The forest of eucalyptus is massive and dark. There are other girls like her, somewhere within the vast stretch of fragrant forest, but the night is dark and her eyes are closed to all except the tiny spheres of water. With each taste that finds itself in her mouth, she feels a new emotion. Like lightning mixed with sweetness. Like rage filtered through a soft touch, like candy dipped in the excited delight of flesh on flesh. Her thighs, wrapped tightly around the smooth branch shudder with each arriving drop.