my villi caress your face, learning the soft curves of your cheeks, the bridge of the nose. i introduce my friends, a couple of belligerent stick figures. you seem bored and disengage from my hose station with a yawn, filling out the required forms as you rollercoaster stomach drop into the oblivious void of bliss at our feet, squawking like a wounded gull. the bridge is silent now, as mitochondria dance in the bellies of beasts below, the green, greasy stench rising to dance in my nostrils.
I need to feel endless in both directions. It's personal.