The sky looks beautiful now
The sky looks beautiful now.
Dark clouds in the sky tumbling by, like a hundred horses on a race to outdo one another. Each on a mission to conquer the brightness, to eliminate any glimmer of light, to render my room as dark as a tomb. I watch triumphantly as the last glimpse of the sun’s rays gets eaten up by the hungry horses.
The rain had stopped 5 minutes ago but the thunder threatens to entertain me still. I had ran out from the midst of my shower when I heard the thunder’s cry to me. Wrestling to close the windows, I smell the erotic fragrance of rain, enticing me.
The roads and the greenery in the horizon, still wet from the rain’s embrace, still wanting more. The serenity of the aftermath, so deceiving. Will it rain again? I rushed back to finish off my bath, not wanting to miss the outcome of the foreplay between the wind and the swaying trees. Howling with desire, the winds breathe through the gaps between my balcony doors. It’s not escaping – it’s urging me to join in their coupling. From afar, the buildings start obscuring from view. Slowly, I watch mesmerised, as the curtain of rain move sensuously towards me, devouring everything in sight. A tree, a car, a road sign. A second before the rain hit me, all becomes quiet. The winds stopped its caressing, my heart stopped its beating.
And then it came. The climax. Roaring in agony, it beats down upon me. The glass doors protect me from the heaven’s outrage, but I feel its rhythm in me, coursing through my bones, feathering on my skin, touching me. It came down hard, then soft – almost disappearing, then hard again, like a multiple orgasm. I’m now a picture of confusion as my lips curl into a satisfied smile but my hands are locked into a grip. The rain never fails to pleasure me.
And then it was over. Dissipated. Worn out. The winds moaned with reluctance before changing their direction – out through my doors, together with the rain to torment someone else. I knew it loved me, for I feel it rake its invisble fingers through my hair. It held on to a lock of my hair, reluctant to let go without a whisper of goodbye. To others it’ll seem as if that lock of hair were floating in midair on its own accord.
But I know better.
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