My wet hair dampens the rock.
I'm in snowangel position
Without the snow
On my back.
My suit soaks into warm stone.
My arms fill with heat from the slab's contact.
Eyes close.
I see fuzzy red--
The inside of my lids plus the sun's shining.
I crack my toes,
Forcing my calves
To embrace more of the rock's warmth.
Turning prostrate,
I press one cheek
And then the next
To scrape against
The hot, rough texture.
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