clickity click click

I shall start at the bottom, where every society begins: I have two feet, which gladly step in front of each other, with a lighter spring when touching foreign land. The knees bend, and also creak, although they are still young, in keeping with the other limbs. The hips billow out into an elliptical mass, and lead to the rump, which spends an indiscriminate amount of time spread out on chairs, sofas and other sitting devices, as is akin to laziness, and inertia. Then comes the mid-point: less billowy than what has just come, and what will come after, and equipt with its own hole, leading down to a dark space with shallow shadows. Then, as promised, a crescenco of flesh: ample and soft, and always harnessed, expect when in sleep, the breasts will catch your eye when measured against the face.
But does this say more about the breasts, of the eye that is caught, or the cut of the top bought with the student loan?
Then the neck rises up from the torso, leaving the mainframe: it could be more swan-like: white, more elegant, but it comes with jugular, which is crucial, and is the only direct path to the crux of it all, where the fizz and the workings toil, and bubble. And then, above the head, there is warm air that becomes an endless arc of sky.