And I travel. Earth deep. Water through. Ocean in. Channels. Back in time. To the corner we must have stepped at the same time once.
I travel to your bed. To your unshared space. And I get in. And I touch your skin. Every single bit of it. The first time two bodies meet.
And I sit, the morning sun. I watch you yell from the top of a loft overlooking Rome: QUE VIVA LA ROMA! 7am in the morning, after an incredible night of partying. You hold champagne. Italy holds me.
Which one is it? Neither. Nor. All images. The one, I know, and do not see but feel, is you are special. I do not want you shared. Not the least by 60 shirts.
