if arid...

After a while, my mouth was tangled up in the words, the ascenders of the b's and d's, the descenders of the g's and y's digging into the soft places they could find, serifs in my molars and loops of o's and a's and q's around my tongue. Small words like 'we' and 'lace' pressed up against the roof of my mouth. Longer words like 'insistent' and 'weathered' wedged across the lines of my jaw. I was quiet for a while.

(I am sometimes quiet; for a while, you know.)

I, never more awkward then when the axis turns vertical, somehow clambered down the rock face and I sat at the bottom with my feet in the white chalky dust to give the letters time to dissolve. You, never more graceful than when the axis of motion is vertical, dropped, balls of your feet twin little muffled spurts of white chalky dust. After a while, I thought about, what if the letters had tastes?

(I sometimes taste things that are tasteless; you know.)

And you, I know you have tasted a's and l's like cherry-candy. I wonder if you know what it looks like, your blue hair against the silver sun.