symbols

when you look at me, you see a map, finally written in your native language, reminding you of what you already knew but to see it written down in black and white one more time still brings tears to your eyes. for an obsessive incomplete communique it feels damn good to just be read,
it's more moving than your curious mouth, more intimate than dances of limbs on fields of cotton blends, no more and no less humbling than to convulse with ego death as a defiant example of actions and feelings and rituals of which we habitually and systematically deny existence. you read what i already am, and you recognize me.