Shooting stars scream

The slight rush of the river filled his ears in unison with the chirping of insects as he gradually opened his eyes and began to awake. His fists were sore as he began to rub the outside of his eyes, the cracked skin and the pressure on his elbows feeling unable to support his weight. The air feels coarse and his back seems to stick to the hammock underneath him; the room is black, a pitch lighter than tar, but thicker than midnight. He took a step out of the makeshift cabin, silently cursing the darkness, the steep grade of the hill to the murky river, and the bites on his skin. Pain lashed through his torso from the insects of a jungle so uncontrollable by man, dominated by nature. The raft for his journey, into the unknown, lay ahead. Latching onto the the small raft by its moorings and settling himself, he pushed off, listening to the interaction of nature in utter delight. In the near distance he could see a small caiman, the underbelly shining white in the streaming strands of moonlight, before it shimmered into the water. He floated on his back looking at the stars, avoiding what was next. Coconut trees bent into the river and watched him float by. A shattered tree. Yellow bamboo stalks wept, surveying his passage. The wayward cry of a macaw forewarned his journey, echoing, echoing, echoing.

He reached the swamp. He flipped the raft over onto the shore and began to swim in the gloomy water, now upstream, unable to see or feel. The river had narrowed, making it impossible to push a raft through with the obstruction by brush, logs, and unknown creatures. Small fish pecked at his feet, packing around him, more daring by every stroke. The razor sharp rocks cut his feet. The swim against the current made every breath feel louder than the inhalation of the thick, cloudy air. He turned towards the banks for one last look, treading water, feeling foolish for being so sure. So certain.

When he saw her, the detonation almost destroyed him. He almost was unable to stay afloat, and it took all of his strength to tread water. She couldn't yet see him in the darkness. A floating coconut if she wasn't looking. He took his time, watching her.
Had he known that he was about to enter a place where the only part of him left in the open would be his own transgressions?
Perhaps, or maybe not.

He began to swim towards her slowly, cutting a swath in the water in utter silence. The creases of water on the muddy water rippled towards her legs, causing her legs to quiver. She saw him as he began to stand up, her eyes telling a story which even in words, could empty all of the words on paper. The moonlight wasn't particularly lustrous or strong, but it was bright enough. For them. They grasped each other and their mouths met. It was a tangle of desperate desires and a grasp of the truth. He needed this, he needed her, now. His eyes took in the dimples of her skin, the hair, oh the thick, beautiful hair...
She knew this may be the last, but the only time that the world was his. The fish. The sky. The mud. The shooting stars. He moved so easily through it, and she admired his beauty. His eyes revealed more than he had ever showed her before. It was his world and she was more than glad to be apart of it.
She wasn't thinking now, and neither was he. Triumphant smiles and knowing grins lay ahead. But that was all later.

He stood entirely before her, water dripping off of him, drawing a pool between them. That pool contained their hopes and dreams, their aspirations. Soon to be washed away in the jungle rains.
He pulled her in and she pulled him closer. Her clothing off, he began to take her. They collapse.
Like the very foundations they were based on.
Stars overhead scream.