I Will Protect You

He pulls us down to kneeling stances since I am too short. His cock finds a resting place under his pants, pushing against my upper thigh. I drip everywhere, raging…raring to have him…..Ezekiel opens and it is worth the years not knowing he awaited; worth the entire road of shit suffered from this life’s birth.

I could taste hundreds, millions, and never imbibe this. Wouldn’t want it from any other. The Earth before it rolled from its larval shell…..the rivers in the meadowbrook orchid planes, where nightshade blooms fertilized by vein sprays…..the stags trampling obstacle course boundaries, bent on returning to endless oceans……He curled beneath me, and let my body drive….

There are dragons and daggers and ice picks and craters where the Moon napped and sucked on trepidation. A place where the Sun thawed each morning compliant to the pact of dripping blood spots. He is not absent of fear – the banshee roils…the fear of losing me this time round…

It is the only blight in his cunning attack upon the mundane. He does not want to sleep alone in the rain again.

Hear the Howling...

The pain is the right temperature, exacted as I craved it-the delicate balance between tearing and climatic release. He knows where and when and how without any hint. We don't speak - we dig and grip, we become the Night Spirit...I feel this quake, this overwhelming need...he is the only one to ever touch me this high-to know me without the waste perpetrated by fancy dinners and movies and checklists of like minded pursuits. Forty-eight hours and I hardly know anything about his life save that he already has me deciphered and it is fucking about time that I open myself to abandon. The police find drunks and hobos and runaways and junkies in the parks. They see miscreants, but I hear howling.

He looks different when the Moon lets the Sun take over. Not as pale, not as wild, yet the animal instinct is still there, and not entirely by cosmetic intervention. He is the incarnate hunter, the king snake...He can use me, take me and have me. I will not deny. I must stop myself from screwing this up for here is someone who knows.

He has fed upon the rain and knows I need it too.

It Once Rained Upon Me

I lived in the rain. ages ago, I ran naked in it...It never relented, and neither did I. It pounded into my skin, whipped into my hair, and stung my face. My nipples always hardened as the drops smacked down...I slept in caverns embraced and caressed by wolves, their downy fur cinched around me till dream land pulled away for another foray into the storm. Passages never weighed much - no need when the lands spewed alive, and conceptualized eclipses held no meaning...

I know he was with me too. Who he is now, what he is, no clues remain as to his appearance, essence, or mannerisms, but I know he was there. I know I did not drink in the rain alone, did not canvas and journey the landscape unaccompanied. The Earth and I shared blood...shed blood...we fed off of each other in a time unconstrained. There was snow that tickled sleet and hail that taught and tested resilience.

Never sun though. Warmth in a light that defined black, washed in a milk bath cream surfacing just enough to destabilize pitch totality. It was the time when everything had a pulse for the taking, eager to threaten and tempt and eliminate and capture, a jumble of pro-active intensity.

I knew then that I was happy. Fulfilled. Confident and insatiable in the bareness of the world. We fucked in the mud and gnawed on our meals atop stones uncarved by human branding.

Morning...

The city is astonishing in the rain - gray tones undulating as they ward off threatening pastels. When the lightening penetrates the darkened sky, the sky that should have cast dawn upon the expectant clocks, you know that you are living in a world unto itself, a die cast model birthed by star burst laughter. Blood, spill at the first peach grove to preserve that orgy - welcome thus to every soul seeking nomad and their vein splitting mentor.