Down on earth we’re never happy. Down in our jobs and worrying about money; down with other people in the fray, parents suitors teachers friends et all.
Right now I think of bliss. I think of weaving my shroud between the gaps where your flesh departs from mine. The imperfection of the grooves between your nape and my legs, where my arms leave air around your torso, the endless gap between your valleys.
I feel like it’s only here in clouds and dreams we’re ever happy. I play king and you goddess, lounging on all our lopsided forms.
When I think of myself I only know you.
Is it the snake’s fault she ran away?