Woke up this morning to a completely silent house. The rain had lulled everyone to sleep, even the dogs. Even the birds outside. Even the frogs had gotten their fill of singing and dancing. I pictured them drunk in the drains, huddled in the mud with their squashed, groggy faces. Sticky tongues only reaching out every so often to test the air for signs of rain. Yup. Still there.
I don't blame them.
All the doors in the house were closed too, including the room now occupied by my roommate and, at least this morning, his girlfriend. We've got somewhere to be in half an hour. I don't even hear them stir. In my mind I can see through the door. I can see the two of them piled like laundry on that tiny bed. I can see them occasionally rolling like the clouds outside. I thought about locking, but then thought, 'let them have it.' Everyone deserves a morning like that every once in a while. Everyone should get to enjoy a little together weather.
I don't blame them.
Now these two are something else. A grown man, almost. Only a few years younger than myself. Same for her. But both playing like children, getting each other soaked and making the rain feel a-fool. I wanted to ask just how old he was, as if making sure, when I saw him open the door a crack and fire three or four shots from a squirt gun. Then, still grinning, he closed it behind him and put his weight against it. A moment later she, his playmate with a face full as the moon and a smile like sunlight on droplets on forest leaves, bursts through the door. I don't need my imagination to see the wells at her shirt-front and and her swollen pants back. All soaked. All clinging closely to dull copper skin. I see her hips and her thighs and the rest of her curves rolling like those hills down south. Down...south....
Yeah, go deh bwai. Squirt away. Splash and spill and spray away. Whatever will get her wet. Pull her hair, and lock the door. Whatever you can do to drive her crazy. Whatever you can do to make her scream your name. Go deh bwai. Go deh strong.
I don't blame you.
I don't blame them.
All the doors in the house were closed too, including the room now occupied by my roommate and, at least this morning, his girlfriend. We've got somewhere to be in half an hour. I don't even hear them stir. In my mind I can see through the door. I can see the two of them piled like laundry on that tiny bed. I can see them occasionally rolling like the clouds outside. I thought about locking, but then thought, 'let them have it.' Everyone deserves a morning like that every once in a while. Everyone should get to enjoy a little together weather.
I don't blame them.
Now these two are something else. A grown man, almost. Only a few years younger than myself. Same for her. But both playing like children, getting each other soaked and making the rain feel a-fool. I wanted to ask just how old he was, as if making sure, when I saw him open the door a crack and fire three or four shots from a squirt gun. Then, still grinning, he closed it behind him and put his weight against it. A moment later she, his playmate with a face full as the moon and a smile like sunlight on droplets on forest leaves, bursts through the door. I don't need my imagination to see the wells at her shirt-front and and her swollen pants back. All soaked. All clinging closely to dull copper skin. I see her hips and her thighs and the rest of her curves rolling like those hills down south. Down...south....
Yeah, go deh bwai. Squirt away. Splash and spill and spray away. Whatever will get her wet. Pull her hair, and lock the door. Whatever you can do to drive her crazy. Whatever you can do to make her scream your name. Go deh bwai. Go deh strong.
I don't blame you.
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