他的脖颈线

He places his head against the grey headboard. The neckline as well as the board form a small, arched space. The peach fuzz on his neck winds upward like the wild Boston Ivy, growing into strands of dark curly hair at the top. Resting on his shoulder, my head slowly inches forward, until it touches the entrance of the arch. "This is a secluded chapel" I think. Unknown to the owner of the body, remains hidden and unexplored. I close my eyes, and silently make a wish. Now his neckline harbours a secret.