Pale skin flushed with activity, arteries running blue carrying blood just under her surface like hidden tributary rivers. The wide unflawed expanse just under the subtle ridge of her collar bones, the country punctuated by her ribs, the plunging region to that juncture where they meet, and thus entwined and locked in a kiss, become a circle complete.
I dream of the faraway Nation of Ulysses under a shower I procrastinated all morning for fear of losing the smell of Her on me. Rivulets run down my own chest in clever patterns. I am navigator of my own mind, I am not lost here. I grew up, left and returned to
In the mountains, in a cold rain, he came upon a large hare lying wounded under an olive tree. A rabbit no longer running, out of tricks. Ulysses crouched, helmet pushed back on his head, rain shattering on the shield strapped across his back, holding the animal close to his chest. The matted fur and breathing of the rabbit, Ulysses’ cloak trapping their warmth. This is my story and my story is me.