It’s warm like butter on fresh bread or a bath that’s drawn nice and dark with candles and wine booze. It’s pleasant and friendly like a kiss from a person you’ve been eyeing or the police officer that visits the neighborhood. It can also be a sudden squall whose violence exhibits how nature is both fetching and perilous. (Not unlike the kiss and the cop.) It’s a wet, wondrous enveloping shroud of heat and near bloodletting that resembles starry sky sex in a hot tub or a sordid honeymoon full of gambling on foreign beaches.
A fresh, velvety, waterlogged body on a bicycle tearing through the water like a flat bottom bass boat, weaving and sailing, swallowing every drop of tropical rain that falls from the wild, roaring thunder and realizing that soon the rain will not be as forgiving or as thorough as this. Not as heated or brutally torrential as this.
It will be a different rain, a cooler, fresher, steady drizzle and fall, more of a quick slap across the cheek than a sweaty caress on the thigh.