LUNATIX

Hurriedly, I step over the mount and walk along the arm. Reaching the shoulder, seeing the pectoral, I understand that this person’s palms are ‘up’ in the same direction as the front of the body and, let me get there, the face.

An astonishingly thin and reddish grass - this is what my bare feet feel as I cross the pectoral, heading for the neck. How come that I can see all that? The pale, blueish skin, the ginger grass? Well, this latter one is barely distinguishable... Anyway, I find myself talking about it, analyzing and wondering...

Phosphorescence.

Another word popping up between my ears.

Careful now, you’re walking a fine line. Don’t step on his Adam’s apple. This huge body must belong to a man. According to the prominence of Adam’s apple... But! Hey! Also according to the fine ginger fur on his pectorals that are no boobs. I can be slow and stupid at times...

So, Rolf, brace yourself. Jump!

My hope to hit the expected target under his chin, to desperately clench on his lower jaw and make myself a climb up on his face... all these anticipating plans vanished behind my jump.

Graciously, somehow in slow motion, I bounce like a panther, from the end of his sternum, to land with my hands on his eyebrows, my feet pushing down his lower lips, my body laying on his nose.

Kitten.

I feel like a kitten. Very well then: singular words flash through my mind at random, or so I think; athletic gestures define my moves, beyond my expectations; the darkness with no gravity to pull me down, or up; this giant body I’m given to explore...

Given? When?

Right after I spoke my name: Rolf.

Hum... I stand, with each foot on a cheek, directly above his nose. And I say: “Wake up, Rolf.”

At once, the eyes of the giant open at me.

At me?

Yes. From left and right, I am fixed in a cold stare.

I flinch. Almost slipping to the left, I make a gesture to grab his nose, not to fall down, into the abyss. Wherever that be.

Eye contact.

Two words come up in my head. They keep my body stable, in equilibrium, allowing my eyes to fix his eyes. Blue like the sky behind Grossglockner, on a summer day.

Oh my, what if he wishes to speak, to move his head, what if...

Stay still.

Another couple of words in my head. What should I call this?

Telepathy.

Oh yes, single words work as well.