rain, earth and treasure

Whenever rainwater meets earth, I press my nostrils against damp soil, allow the aromatic spices fill my gut till I fart out sunshine and kingly purple. I don’t know why, but whenever thumping rains beat at cracked earth, I tremble with delight, almost want to sink my fingers in loam, clay and sand to uncover their inner workings, like a lover’s forefinger dancing circles within the warm peaches of a lustful wife. Rain is a cloud of confetti and I want its shimmering dust to pour all over me, cleansing me of the worry, all the pressure, unleashing every hidden treasure. Why fit in if I lose myself? Why be droplets in a rivulet when my creativity can be an overflowing gash that fills out seas of writer’s ink, braves storms of writer’s block? Heaven is pouring down tonight. In the stillness, cloaking in winter’s humid, poking bleeding hearts staring out into space, as the sheer cold grips louvre blades with a quivering tang!