Lips may blister. A landscape is infinitely patient. Lips are not a dialectic. A woman listens from her rock. The wind instructs the landscape.
Lips harbor a sail.
Somewhere, a woman remembered a skyscraper. Occasionally, the landscape is lonely for another landscape. But there is no other landscape for the landscape to encounter. So the loneliness moves onto her lips. A landscape never changes and has no plans to do so.