ice cold water peels down brown back tense and silken unblemished, fronds touching from all sides, their curled up young unfurl for us, releasing green vaporous messages, about hunger and thirst. Citrus trees around hold their orbs above, porous skins heavy with tart oils that bump in the air with the milky odour of the ferns below. A line of vertebrae lies across mossy rocks, slicked dark with moisture from the roaring humidity, plants reach out to caress the foreign surface texture and define its nutrients, sodium, testosterone, pheromone, soil sits in every cup and dip in flesh, and the twine around wrists grows tighter with every long pull, to the sides trying to break free the muscles in the upper arms tense and bulge the lines along them like crafts, sweat beaded on peaks and plateaus running down crevices over clavicle and pooling at the base of the throat where it irritates and thrashes more. Water consumes the air, so heavy it's almost raining, but not yet, the pressure in the forest is so close the direction of energy painted in space with flies clustered in expanding black holes that drift between and under broad green leaves which drip slowly from savagely beautiful valleys every time they pass by. A thick, heavy slab is lowered onto a protruding abdomen, rocking gently over an almost bursting cell, the thin layer between inside and outside massaged until one is the other. Something breaks with a crackle heard well before the first heavy drop is seen, felt on scalp running down between hairs to cheek, the atmospheric pressure mounts and the storms afterthoughts turn shapes of sky between silhouettes agar to aloe. Trees blush and bow down with the following frenetic breeze, touching their thighs and twisting around.