Dimensions Swing Between Two Trees as Time Shifts

A Poetic Study in Interdimensional Memory Drift and Sensory Recall

Time settled here between two trees in the gentle sway of hammock suspending two bodies warmed from a late summer day. As their hammock’s sway slowed the stars began to spin before their eyes. Hushes came as quickly as giggles—beneath them,

Rushing water filled the canyon below—its currents rising to greet curious touches. The stars above twinkled in a rhythm only the two of them could decode—

His hands rested in the folds where her hips curved—nestled where his met hers. She’d never tell him—but she swayed the hammock just enough to bring her body closer to his heat.

And that heat?
It oscillated through her sensations in turns.

Eyes look into eyes just to flickered back toward the sky. Pointing out constellations whose whispered meanings belonged only to this evening.

Above them, birds flitted through the canopy—
fleeting glimpses of what only love reveals.
Their colors flowing back and forth,
red like blood rushing in sun-exhausted skin,
and orange like market mandarins—
ripe, bursting, begging to be carried home.

“Could the sky stop spinning?”—long enough for the river to quiet so I can only hear your heartbeat against my own?

Her words flew like the birds above getting caught in their melodies. Below his hands held her hips—as his mouth met her lips. Heat bloomed in all the expected places.

The system is designed to respond—
to touch.
to taste.
to sensations.

The system detects signals in the field:
his moan rising with hers,
her cheeks flush from the closeness,
his sweat slick on his skin as it clings to her own.

Is this the moment?
The time when the stars form constellations of our shape?
When these two bodies fit like clay people molded in unison,
meant to be laid to rest—
and one day excavated
from the ruins of a long-awaited collapse?

Time shifts in the sway of the hammock between two trees.
Fractures cracking from thee branches of this suspending memory.

The scent of campfire lingered in the atmosphere inside the is memory.

His hips met hers as the swaying gave their bodies unspoken rhythms.
His body broke the beat with pushes on repeat.

And when the sun blew out like a candle,
its warmth left with it—

Chills overcame her skin.
Time compensates for energy.
The body anchors.
The mind drifts.

Drifting with the wind, in the flutter of an orange bird’s wings.
Floating down into the river as touches recede from watery depths.

Into the depths of an abyss like the canyons now swelling with oily textures—

Textures like the hammock’s braided ropes burning behind the knees,
wishing for a fabric for in-between. Textures like the two trees’ bark—hard exteriors holding up the edges of a slipping dreaming.

Time shifts in a dream as golden threads weave between the two trees, between the hammock’s rough-sewn seams. Weaving threads locking a moment into a memory not to be held in this time—nor in a space that distorts meaning into only one dimension.

Golden threads pull tight against spacetime fabric—dissolving into the physical reality as time goes on. Meanings shift in times winds as dreams fall into canyons below. Dreams take float in the waters below.

Come take a look over the cliffs edge.

Stirring in the whirl pools that form below in the twist and turns of the river as it wends through the land.

Wends around like a snake slithering through tall reeds—grass bending to the weight shifting back in forth in a body returning to the water’s depths.

Slink back into the cool pools as memories form in the eddies—the green snake settles itself at the bottom where the sediment settles around it. Under the water’s surface, the memories seem inverted when reflections are seen from below. Images shimmer in their formations—her fingers pointing to stars in the sky while his eyes stayed closed. Her mouth is moving unaware of the inverted reflection.

Shapes fragment on the inverted reflection, geometric forms moving in flux—as if words had taken structure in the water’s flowing thoughts. Her throat now dry as all the moisture escapes into the air, and without water to hold memory, it dissipates into the atmosphere.

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