I long to wear red velvets, and hooped lace dipped in net. I long for a deep curve in the landscape so the night can dangle it's face over my lens. I long for berries that prick my finger when I pluck. I long to feel the slow trickle of my blood.
I long to lay in the moss and have the moon trace its fingers over my face. I long to take my camera underground, memorising your footprints from above.
I long for you to show me the way, to run with me until the night catches on and casts me back.
Only at first light can you return me to my grave of wails and shadows and earth.
Can you catch me.