she goes cherry-picking inside herself, plucking each sweet memory from still blossoming tree. basket-full, she carries them from vibrations to throat to lips smiling; and eventually, to the space between us.
let another’s touch be so intimate, so sexual, so free as the earth’s touch upon me.
tree oxygenates insides/ inspiring pores to receive surroundings//
water pours into- onto microscopic doors/ trickling into the mystery and magic of//
my earth, my body
to affirm one’s self becomes an opening towards affirming those around you- from the sun to the people to the tiny creatures in the soil.
why would these capitalist institutions teach us how to love ourselves? our love is too dangerous for this system to survive.
it is in everything you see,
that which cultivates life,
adds earth to inbetween toes,
and rests in eyes that create the world.