The Bellows

The forecast was a low hiss and a high-pitch chuckle

She sat up in bed as the trees wrestled for their upright posture,
The trivial windows of their compact bedroom got punched by bullet shaped droplets
“I left things outside.”

And he tossed over, his hips now facing her.
“Hmm?”

“I left something’s outside. I need to get them so they aren’t ruined. I didn’t know it would rain. It hasn’t for months.”

He lifts himself up
“I’ll help.”

And they rushed into the burdened weep
And the bellow of unrepented furry

As they sought tools in the bleak air
Half-lit, time is a taunting thing

The feeling of glaciers jigging up the bumpy ridge of spines.

But, just as soon as the midnight chore was over,
Their eyes each traveled up from the drunken boots that soiled their feet,
They watched as nearby ponds, lakes, and rivers pour over the other’s bare shape,
And saw in eachother’s eyes this very moment,
Tender and true.
Manically, they begin to burst
To double over,
She careened forward too far and had to catch her weight in the mud with her hands, and the squish was a beep to the phonestheme of rain biting into the dirt, becoming one with the land

The sky wept, and they erupted,
So full was their love, the naked and drenched beyond the marrow kind.

And moments later, when the fit of lively rumbles ceased to leap from the long columns of their throats,

and the globular beads still trickled along the skin, maneuvering over his adam’s apple and down through the valley between his sharp collar bones, and

and as they dug their soiled toes, intertwined, into the twisted sheets again, as the sky quaked and pounded and growled, and rattled,

Their eyes became the shape of soft almonds, their hands became traveling agents wondering miles and miles of vast terrains, and dimly they heard the other say something, an affectionate mumble to disrupted night, the taunting moment between bleaker day-light hours.

Watching on hands and knees, the cloud’s teeth glowed and it locked horns with the heavens.