Episode

This body is a strange planet
in cold space.
It moves in circles,
With its continents of ink,
separated by careless skin,
Without direction.

These lips whisper desert winds,
which warm hearts to boiling points.
They curl into the same discreet smile,
that changes meaning
with each pair of eyes,
that witness it.

I exist, in the plastic
of ancient photographs,
In the non-existent space of
digital information.
In the immortal memories of people.