From your hips to your feet I want to take a long journey. I'm smaller than an insect. I walk through these hills, they are the color of oats, they have narrow tracks that only I know, burned inches, pale perspectives. There's a lot here. I will never leave it. Oh what a giant moss! And a crater, a rose of damp fire! Down your legs I descend, weaving a spiral or falling asleep on the journey and reaching your knees of round hardness like the rough peaks of a clear continent. To your feet I slide to the eight openings of your sharp, slow, peninsular fingers, and from them to the void of the white sheet I fall, blindly and hungry looking for your scalding vase outline! "If you liked this photo comment a heart"❤