Stretch and shape, reaching out for the desired object, holding none.
There is an abyss between my extended limbs. The skin is permeable, the flesh is porous.
Containers of powdered sweat are stored on the inside.
Crystals of salt have ossified into a an image, into a command.
Run, my darling. Let me take care of your body work.
Bath you, turn you inside out and lick you like the brittle wrapping of a protein bar.
Lusting faceless for the sterile, dripping liquid. I work from home.
Text by Anna Gien