Even if it's lip-smacking, keep your lips parched, as it needs my tongue and the touch of my labial mucosa to stay wet. Leave it there. Wait for me unless you need a drink—perhaps a pint of beer or a gin cocktail.
But if you cannot resist the insatiable desire to stay moist and succulent, inflame your passion to remain hydrated. The more inflamed you are, or rather, the longer your desire is intensified, the more worthy you become of your desire. And nothing in life, not even our mediocre whims, appears out of the blue unless we are worthy of them.
I have pined for your call for the last three years. That doesn't make me worthy of it. Does it? Every gulp of rum I took to ruin my cognitive and metacognitive fancies has transposed me to a reality that had never existed and will never exist either. People wrote about their unripe and untimely plucked oranges and melons in better metaphors and with better word choices. But I'm not doing that here. Through these words, I am appealing to your innermost brain and intellect like a sorcery-virtuoso from a distance that brings you closer to me geographically and psychologically.
It is the cause and it is the effect of the cause. It is the effect which is the cause of another after-effect. And, there goes our linear story no matter how much you strive to disrupt the narrative like a post-modernist for whom linear storylines are boring and mundane. But life is always linear. It takes cues from here and there in its past but never goes astray unless you deliberately adulterate its distilled and pristine flow.
Sooner, it was gone for you and for me too. We have proven that we cannot resist that drink we were supposed to touch after a week or stay dehydrated, only to immerse ourselves in the pulpy nectar of mangoes once the first month of summer is over. But you know what? I have turned into a ripe tough coconut now after waiting for so long for your lush and fervent desire.
But I have little water left for us.
Would you call that ripening too?
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