Parched


I plow through the curves of that spread-out valley on my way to her like a raindrop seeking entrance between canyons where maps are not necessary.


I push through the trees and continually wonder what it is like to thoroughly explore those depths and get lost in that forest where breath evaporates into the air leaving only mist and words are left unspoken in the bark of trunks, the chest-tightening pressure of the altitude, and the groans of outstretched branches reaching up in prayer.


The humidity rips through buttonholes and bra straps we’re too lazy to undo and I hitch at the thought of paradise at the mountain’s peak.


I am parched,

But all I hear is the sound of constant, rolling, thunder.

I want to taste the rain.


The land rises and falls

Apart until it blurs the mountains and peaks into violet maroons that must be hidden beneath the comforter covering the blush of the world.



-JC