The borders of flesh twirl in the water. My hand is a mountain. Her cries penetrate the dark when I sleep. A rose falls in my dream.
I follow the drift of brown in your eyes, one I knew in another place. His tongue an apple, yours a pear.
A blue pedestrian falls in the river. The silk rises like bulbs of flesh.
Little curves of hair wash my back. Gentle fruit I pick from your mouth.