Names are directions, for instance, right hand,
back of the head,
but where does neck-slue point to?
Worse, there are no fingerposts
to the point where the small of the back divides
or to any point on their vast, smooth and firm terrain.
Like an astronomer, I could name the features I observe
through powerful lenses or advanced techniques,
but I prefer
to bounce on them and boast like an astronaut:
this pimple shall be known as the Hill-By-Which-Passion-Navigates,
this birth-stain Lake Pleasant,
and this steep-sided fall between the cheeks
the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Plan for this poem-in-progress