LONELY PATH

The mountains are my mistress.

I explore the rise and fall of her breasts, walking along this lonely path, feeling her smooth contours, resting in the protection of her valleys.

She both welcomes and chastises me like a lover who is not always easy to please, familiar in places, yet mysterious along the ineffable landscape of her body.

She is responsive to my touch, yet aloof to the inconsequential footprints I leave on her skin as I make every step a devotion.

When I am here, I am closest to nature, closest to death, walking a path between peril and salvation.

When I am here, I am closest to life, as my own body comes alive, feeling the grind of bone and muscle as I take each step, tasting the sweet air that is the breath of my lover.

When I am away, I dream of her unfound depths, places yet unexplored by my wandering feet.

I have yearned for her, sweated for her, bled for her.

She haunts my dreams and sobers my wake.

Her size both defeats and cajols me ever onward, and I am not walking with her as much as I am carried away by her.

It is only an illusion that I am able to keep my feet about me, because I know deep down that she could swallow me anytime she wanted, uniting us forever in the depths of her unconquered hollows, or propel me to places on high, as I dance in the shallows of the clouds...