This is not a poster, you said. Not something to be grasped while riding on top of a bus. This would admit no witness without proximity.
Your body a landscape of fossil-ripe skin. Your body an ancient object of bone, stone, shell and wood, the promontory above storied seas, the cave of hillside forests.
Your body inviting touch, that the fingers may know the harmony of its swells and hollows, the full aria of its full-throated longings, even at rest.
Inspired by the sculpture of Henry Moore.