atlrein

your fingers taste like sulfur as they etch my collarbone. pores mirror relished olfactories for a moment, swirling through your branches of crust and ossein. using ochre dirt as blankets and the sea of meadow for berth, we become one with nature. we are bare beneath the deep blue horizion. in vulnerability and beauty, we wait for the right moment when everything falls into place and can disperse into the land in which we came.