cross multiply
Bodies like emptied rooms, bodies like open fields, and bodies with the scent of an estranged prisoner. Bodies like memories you pretend never happened. Bodies like sunken trees, fallen ships. Bodies of concrete beside bodies disintegrating. Bodies like sunsets eaten alive, roots colliding with an open sky. Skies that call out your name, skies to get lost in, and skies to doubt. Skies to lean against, skies that hold you and keep the truth in the core. Skies that say No with skies you grasp onto. Skies that won't forgive and skies you will forget. Skies that betray you, skies that scream ART. Skies you'll never leave and skies that will flee from you. Skies that speak of the Big Bang and skies that dream of Pangaea. Skies like the bodies you commit to memory. Bodies that feel the weight of a goodbye. Bodies like ripped teddy-bears sewn back together. Bodies like trench warfare. Bodies that swallow you whole and bodies stripped of a future. Bodies that have never stopped hunting with bodies that will depart tomorrow. Bodies that are the taste of fresh blood seeping out of a wound; the sound of rubbing stones together. Bodies like surrealist paintings and bodies that tremble shiver shake like pipes in an abandoned home when stroked. Bodies like baby's breath on a mother's neck, like hairline cracks on vintage teacups. Bodies like a lover biting too hard, like a scrape on the knees. Bodies in hospitals, bodies at war, bodies in mosh pits, bodies at sea. Bodies like Keep Out signs on top of bodies like Welcome mats. Bodies building love and bodies making trust. Bodies like sifting sand in an hourglass and bodies like beacons atop lighthouses at twilight. Bodies that aren't caving in, with bodies that are exploding and burning out.
Bodies.