The Rocks At Edale

Because the stones are wind submissive, water pliant; turned on wheels of air, they remind me of village girls broad buttocks, love handles, rolling hips. Not like the bony walkers that climb up here. Their nakedness is fashioned by a grinding tenderness. I sample that roundness, let my warmth kiss the curves. Sit next to a pretty one, eat a ham sandwich, think fondly of the plump barmaid in the valley below.