Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response

Oh your voice,
it carries the geology of the tongue
in a startling language
your saliva and its stones, caught by geographical time
the knot and bark of your swallow
sussurations of your lips, of fur
brushing past itself, salted in the night-forest
and your eyes muddy marsh
sodden in the hills and routes of our conversation
between moon-dragging planets.

Speaker, you shake me
your strata bared by the sandblasting wind
the grass bent, rent and shattered by a foot
that mountain collapses and tectonic plates tear –
You gulp in the nothing of my ear

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