It’s muggy hot. Too heavy for my bones. The mastodon hours lumber their way into extinction, sinking wearily into the sticky tar pit of the evening.
It will go on like this until June: leaden days of drowsy impatience. I’m scorpion in amber, my sting ever at the ready, and no way to get at your soft inner thigh.
So instead, I lie on my bed and let the ceiling fan hypnotize me into a drunken fantasy in which you curse me in anger and fuck me with fervour.
‘I’ll know if you are faking,’ I whisper to the empty room, raising my hips in the fan’s helicopter whir.
These mouldering walls are stained with my obscenities. Waiting for the monsoons to come, I’ve wanked, whined, muttered, screamed out every name under the sun but yours. I don’t have one for you. Only your hands, only your eyes, only your flesh as it hits mine with a thud that reminds me I’m meat after all.
I come like a child’s tantrum. Weeping and writhing, hitting the mattress with clenched fists. Leaking hard-won respite all over humid sheets. Their creases map my angry cheek in the aftermath.
Jesus. When will it rain?
I just love the use of language in this piece; creating an atmosphere that one can taste and feel. Hot in more ways than one.
Thank you! Twas my intention. I thought I’d share a little discomfort around. 😀
Discomfort is always entertaining yet decidedly annoying. When will it rain indeed.
somehow in the heat it’s so much easier to feel how fragile the force keeping us from decomposition and putrefaction is. One missed breath and we’re bloated bodies. Makes everything more immediate, more concrete, less thought out and abstracted over
That *is* heat.
I still smell the heat and stench but it was always the rains that was the worse for me.
The similarities between this story and my evening last night are incredible. Frustration, anger, and a very non-specific anxiety took over my night. Hot and humid, the tension was building in more ways than one! Might have to write about it soon.
Beautiful as always, RG. I especially love the line about the tantrum. I know exactly what that’s like.
Fucking brilliant.
“The mastodon hours lumber their way into extinction, sinking wearily into the sticky tar pit of the evening.”
I could hate you for this.
I was going to say I could hate you for thinking of it before I did. Except I wouldn’t have thought of it. And you did.
An amazing metaphor.