Original from Hi, by Baby Kid

to be binded by geography like a tree disrupts a power line. to be blinded like geography from a moth and a light

my face wicks away the water on your lips. and i watch as it drips and peels out from your face and floats towards the sun . . . like the opposite of rain.

a dense fog licks up the east coast . . . if there is any action i could retract, i’d not influence the weather with my breath (although the beach remains intact). now i’m stuck indoors with gales on the littoral and i savor sea salt on my lips and in the air. tumult in the face of sun and all on my own . . .
your rapidly beating heart (like climbing a mountain/a whole lot of pageantry)
i should take less meaning from things (your heart)

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