I. Hollow
May 10, 2025
Photo © copyright by Nathan Larson.
I. Hollow
In that tender hollow at the crest of your collarbone, I discover a porcelain basin where light pools like quicksilver. When you arch beneath me, it deepens, collecting my longing like dew.
Your sacred declivity quivers with unspoken weight, each flutter beneath your skin pulling me toward beautiful surrender.
I have charted archipelagos with my palms, yet return always to this singular topography, this perfect concave altar where I worship anticipation.
