It’s never been intentional. It’s always just been. Perhaps hidden or undisclosed but none the less, it’s always been.
Been there under the surface just ready for a reason. Ready for a snap, a slap, a break, a scratch of that itch. Bubbling and boiling. Tumultuous and turbulent calmed by the rain of the sullen daily fantasia that leaks out with each pebbled drop. Allowed to dance in the delusion as the thunder draws near and the air thickens. Sticky with a need for release just like the mind that’s been set in motion. Heading to who knows where but let’s go. Why not? There’s no reason not to.
Keep up the pace. Don’t stop now. Not when the going is getting good. It’s all about the finale. The what’s at the end. The teasing. The gooey getting there. The scent in the air. The heavy handed across the lap good girl, bad boy back and forth. The wondering. The day dreaming. The new glimmer. The feel of it. The want of it. The need of it. The rush of it. The hush of it.
All yours to play with and keep with and take from. The necessary and the behind the scenes. The underneath. The channel changed just in time. The curtain opened or closed depending on how you looked at it. Just take a moment. Take a minute and feel the simmer and the steam from it. The shimmer and the glow of it. Notice and appreciate the right there of it. Ripe and real and raw. Available. Those deep down but always present tucked away desires, you know the primal ones. The carnal but cautious and all too casual ones. The make you take a deep breath ones. The bite your lip ones. The don’t let on one’s but you can’t deny one’s.
Lit up by the lightning because they stay in the dark. Lurking and creeping. Never truly needing a reason because they can’t stay quiet for long. Just a whisper is all it will take to draw them out. A suggestion. A nudge. A swallow. A secret. A wish granted with a reality to see them all lived out in. Pricked with poison but allowed.
Bask in the humidity. The soft sticky before and revel in it. Open up and take it. Every last hard hitting drop. Soaked. Drenched but not dead. So alive it hurts. But there’s pleasure in the pain. A used to it. The pressure and release. The rush of it. The hush of it and the smile left behind with it.