MOUSSE D’ARBRE GRIS
Lead coloured stratocumulus clouds, veiling the west north passific skyline in twilight relentlessly with their blind eyes , whose shilluetes ressembling the oracles from ancient tribes, holding back their omens while humming in consideration, contempling carefully the founting cumulonimbus sprouts effervescing on the oppodite horizont of the north east passific, glimpsing them while rolling around themselves and then unfolding apart, whil4 pieces being torn off on their edges, then wrapping back on themselves again. Those two oracles unwinding from two adversing skies, rising and flaring up from opposite coasts of the languid nordic ocean, suddenly burst out for running in saphire shaded sky like two unleashed gladiators to collide with each other in the middle.
I can keep myself barely able to take a moment off from those memories, tiding on ebb and flow in my mind, as your hands were tempering my skin to thunder. As the remembrance of the smell of your neck stroke my soul continuously like the stubborn waves of the ocean erode the cliffs patiently , I caught you once watching me sleep at night remember? You scared me to death, as I opened my eyes and saw yours, that frightened look in your red dried eyes, as if you were crying out your inconsoloble agonies to the strangest sources for a futile help, then you told me that I was sleeping so peacefully, surrendered myself like an innocent, defenseless baby to your care, and that you wouldn’t deserve that blessing, and your arms would start encircling my legs again, burrying your face into my nook , your warm breath breaching my soul so selfless and generously , but why is it only while I am reading that story, that I could barely achieve to take a pause from, through which I could allow myself almost breath something else than your presence in me, not before, not after, but why only while I am going through those lines you wrote:
Those gladiators made of storm clouds swirling apart onto the opposite shores, swallowing the stagnant damp air lingering above the ice cold arctic waters in each step
while racing to each other in the middle of the vast ocean, by breaching abrubtly from east and west, invading the furious loneliness which used to ravish once quietly above the dark sea, flowing to each other by craving for their clash in the midst of the immense dark waters, aren’t the fight between two lovers and the one between two arch enemies fed from the same guts, let them be two people or two continents, for being torn apart so many centuries ago, doesn’t this feud stems from the same craving of getting unified again, by the unbareable urge of completion in front of the unavoidablity of death, and while carrying the unmistakeable scent of black canadian beeswax from one continent and the irresistable odour of the siberian beaver from the other, those oracle shaped clouds in yearning animosity against each other, finally engage, while uniting both mating profiles of the two shores back into each other again.
And when I stop reading that story, I find myself longing for the moments to close my eyes again, for shutting out this world to appear next to you, to remember the nights when your body is above mine, as your hand would warm my skin, and your chest leaned on my belly, my tears dropping on your sweaty forehead, listening your breath when you were falling asleep , as your grip on my shoulder got loose.
This pairing of those two colliding storms, burstig into each other from two opposite horizons, celestially twist those two shamanic odours of budha wood and muhuhu tree onto each other like a DNA helix, from whose two chains the precious resin of labdanum oozes out, then spiraling them up with hallucinogenic lures of hyacinth, knitting them together by mesmerizing musky lotus in patterns forbidden to read, and winding them back in a dazzling suede cycle of everlasting belonging, being bond with velvety orris root together, from whose infinitesimal gap, only few golden drops of sticky valerian could barely seep, so close, as two twins born head to head together, and as two life partners, who chose to leave this earth hand by hand together.
And as the remembrences of you taking me, of your body curling over mine, the lust was so overwhelming that we almost cried, as if contesting with each other for who would give more pleasure to the other one, indecisive whether it’a blessing or a curse, an addiction or a sanction, whether we were trying to convince ourselves that we were armored enough not to turn ourselves in for love ever again….. then all of a sudden, evreything stops, everything turns into a blinding white, a deafening high pitch ringing in our ears would silence anything, which is then broken by our sobbing breaths, and our shaken bodies helplessly holding on to each other, barely keeping our balances not to fall to the ground. As those memories were tiding in my mind, avoiding me to think anything else but feeling your weight on me again, I start to read once more this tale that you wrote, the one with two oracle shaped clouds born by two adversing storms, bursting out from two opposite shores racing towards each other to collide, without even caring to imagine what would happen, or how would it feel like, right after the second of that clash that they had been anticipating in their bones for so long, which is why this story is the only key, through which I get myself able of not thinking of you, no matter how short that moment would take.
This unique couple of cloudy resins and silky cashmere odors, intertwined into each other by a deafening tornado that the twisting hugs of those two wrestling storms caused, riffling up like a turning tower staircaise into the sky, morphed all of a sudden into a sea monster, like a gigantic snake emanated from nordic myths , with shimmering emerald scales on his skin, cocking his scary wide neck off the water, shaking his head wildly at all sides, the insuppressible beast was rumbling back and forth in ice cold prussian blue mid-pasific waters without horizon, by flinging out the aetheral deep marine notes of red sea algae, while savoring the inky animalic façades of ambre gris all around, contesting the free spirit of the untamed ferocity of a wild civet cat in glowing period, drifted away into the jungle at night , spouting out triumphantly her amber-cedary secretions to mark her territorry, hissing and snarling around herself to face all the mating candidates surrounding her one by one, squirting onto them her arousing 《rue》 smell, by addling them with velvety oakmoss and earthy jatamansi, that she digged out of the damp soil while she was turning around herself by purring ruthlessly, under the starless sky of a barely blossoming dusk, beneath the lowering red full moon.