Digits interface with smooth stories written on skin and stone.
She whispers wind to my tree tops, shaking them of their fruit; gently nuzzling against each to guide its fall into her earth.
We exchange seasoned seedlings for scars and bruised promises locked in our own caves.
She shades her light as I command the stars to dance in her honor.
Nestled in the trunk of my soul, she relaxes in the hammock of my pulse. She tells me secrets she forgot to know, and we weave stories that have yet to grow…