An Assault of Omnipresent Proportions

In confidence, the fourth hour of this blackened sky beckons to us with celestial witnesses who have gathered to assess our debauchery, and the wind builds courage to attempt a cease and desist of our sins, whips its chains of frozen contempt against our bare spines, it howls in disapproval as our session of damnation rides the waves of nirvana in blatant disobedience, and the stars are sad, their maternal glow retreats behind mocking clouds, those damn clouds, how they parody our union with their moist presence, their poker face changes cards from stark to lingering, as our skins grow wet from their intrusion, their laughter climaxes over us and we feel their release in translation of our own.