It feels good, yeah? The trees are shedding their skin on us. I can’t feel my body. Your body is an obstacle. I love this temperature, the rain can’t touch me. You take your mouth and put it anywhere you want on my body, okay? I want to taste every part of this ceiling of clouds. I haven’t been back there, I won’t go. When I touch you it will feel good. Plain. We walk around in a circle until our feet get tired. Nap. Standing up. No space. The vacuum is a space that never stops reproducing itself, again, again, again. When does sound become music? How about now? Now? Now? What about now? I forgot what that feels like. When I think about you it happens really hard and really fast. If you know what I mean. We could, I guess. Catch the train. I remember it! It crossed by when the field opened to let him out. I have always wanted a pet goat. Intelligible. Your mouth tastes good. I am so wet! It must be raining. I love this time of night, there are no birds so I don’t have to feel anything. Have you considered it? What it would be like. Imagine it now. We peel back the bark. Sorry, tree, don’t worry. We peel it and peel it and peel it and peel it. The tree gets softer, softer, softer. The inside is hollow but barely. We climb inside. No one can see us. You touch me with your fingers and I look you in the eyes the whole time. The bark shuts us in. It wraps around and around and around and around. This tree is connected to the next tree, the next tree, the next tree. Their root systems use fungi to communicate. We hear their voices, like static. Like tiny electric shocks in our ears. It’s loud because we’re too big to be here. I reach inside your waistband and touch you, I just hold my hand there. Listen. This tree is 80 years young, we are that far inside. Fungal blooms open three feet under us. We feel it all, the roots extending out and out and out and out to touch each other. Some of them get tangled. An army of tiny insects crawls across our face. The tree, I mean, the tree face. We are still inside the tree. Stay with me. You kiss me on the mouth and the forest splits to let us inside. Underground. Like catacombs with less dead, more life. Slimy life. Slugs and beetles and fungus of every colour, shape, variety. Blue, tart mushrooms. Don’t eat that. Look at me. This will be tomorrow once it has passed through yesterday, don’t worry, don’t worry. I found the way out. You lay me down and you f— me and the walls bloom. I watch the small and large roots converging above me. None of them give a shit.