|picture source: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/526850856381021734/|
The raindrops fall freely from silver skies onto dancing forms with thirsty skin and heated breath,
savouring the thousand fingers that trail down their limbs, a river, not meant to cool the soul, but stroke the seeds of desire that lay dormant in the drought and they sprout,
reaching out to lick and taste and feel and absorb the drops from your glistening skin,
the need to have and engage a single-minded purpose from which you cannot deviate,
you cannot withdraw from my privation, you may not remove yourself from me until my shattered world is rebuilt with colour and life, and my aching roots can rest for a while, they’ve been fed, they are sated, their thirst has been slaked. For a while.