If Borneo was a man ...
His coarse brown skin would be worn from light, and deep soulful eyes would lay waiting with the reflection of equal measures of life's hardships and the simple beauty of each day.
He would thrum with the heat of the sun at its peak but, if treated with a gentle, reverent hand his protection would be absolute. No safer would I feel than in the canopied leaf of his palm.
This man would walk alone, the last true Dhaek to heed the land, with footsteps placed between comrades both fallen and mined.
Only sparse words does he speak with quiet strength and purpose but, some nights he brings with him the storm and flashes of angry lightening cut through the safety of the dark.
It always lingers in him...this passion and power underneath his earthen pores.
Then thunderous quakes resound through flesh, and fear bites with the sting of fire ants, knowing the inevitability of one careless brush at the harshness of his hand.
And yet, when his eyes are closed and cool, and his fingertips caress as soft as wisps of wind, I savour all the unbridled fury and unleashed power of his nature.
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