i fell down on your skin.
just before the mole hill on your wrist
the walk was bumpy, a bit creased.
And, well, I was looking more at you.
Anyway. Those tiny creases tripped me
on my travels i ended up stopping.
Stumbling right there, face down.
Sat for a bit in the chasm of your scars.
Dawdled. Happily. Very happily.
I did pull myself out, though,
i used the vines on your arm
you’re covered in them, all
soft. Something rest-your-head-on-able.
So that’s what i’ll do on my hike.
I’ll stay awhile.