04.05.06

je le veux

I can feel my body longing to stretch out before me like a great red desert, its clay peeling up in curls from the rough wind. I can feel my fingers wishing, like bushes, like tress with winsome (wanton) branches, to have their leaves dance and scintillate on the blankets of wind that would make them crawl, scratching , across the floor like needy little creatures.
I consider wings of rain turning dirt darker red, making eddies and pools that swirl with frothing potions of sand, of dust, until the earth swells (as if pregnant) to accept them. I consider the great stillness afterwards, the desert gently arching its back in the silence, stretching as some bird, lost, flies over the wreckage.
The sun returns, warm, bread making, solid.
Bricks build homes, rise deliberately to the sky, never quite reaching the disc of sun save for that small cool spot in the west, where it is always damp and moist in the shade.
My lips curl and my body, like fresh sheets, folds upon itself, tries to stretch itself flat into the softness below it, and I lay, aware of myself like a lounging cat licking its jaws in anticipation.

shi-ou-sama at 1:53 a.m.

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