When was the last time you touched the world with your tongue?

I mean really touch the world.

To lick a tree.

And to know you’re free.

To explore the green veins beneath a leaf.

Or the roughness beneath a fern.

Soft and supple.

Hard and brittle.

Fluffy like a bunny.

Horny like a lizard.

Smooth like an apple.

Pithy like the inner flesh of a reed.

Rough like elephant feet.

Ridged like horse hoofs.

Wet like a salamander.

Warm like sunshine.

Cold like an icicle.

Own own bodies.

Pulsing texture.

Contures. Fractals.

Sense as an explorer of distant lands.

To taste bitter sage.

While touching straw like bunchgrass.

While laying on lichen covered basalt

finding the perfect spot for my body to lay as if a perfect puzzle.

Warmth from the dark rock

absorbed from the day.

With contrasting cooling of wind.

The sunsets as the birds settle.

How flavors match their texture.

Animal. Primal.

Beyond logic.

Here. Presence.

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