Implode (The Definitive Work)

It was a sweltering day, in the month dedicated to Caesar. Even with the rain, the sweat beads poured down his brow. They had flown into Perú and taken a boat down the Amazon, though the hike was still several kilometers from the mudded dock. His linen shirt was nearly indistinguishable from his skin, clinging to the contours of his person. He stood, reveling up at the majestic Rosewood, taken aback by its beauty. He moved toward the massive timber and placed his body against it. With his hands pressed against its trunk, his head lowered in supplication, and a small team of three idling in the downpour, Maxwell listened.

He listened to the Mayans.
To the Aztecs.
To the Incas.

He listened to the rainforest. He wanted their permission.

Their consent.

He wanted this tree to consecrate their love and to hold it, through all eternity.

It was the only bed he had ever constructed. It was a four poster cathedral of Brazilian Rosewood, black rose petals, and lapis lazuli. It was erected for the woman he intended to worship for the whole of his life.

Now, as he watched over her as she slept,
Her skin as soft as the silk linens they shared,
He remembered what it was to be humble before beauty,
And so again, he listened.
This time, to her breath.
And lowered his head in supplication.
Thankful, that she chose him.

Implode. Part XXX - DK