No cartographer has
seen your contours
mapped the sweat-tracks
on your body, or
walked the valley of
your back in the
moonlight.
I will traverse your
hidden highways,
see your skin shiver
like wheat in an
autumn storm. Rest
in your laybys,
lose myself in your
secret city.
And lost, wander through
your shadowy sanctuary,
cathedral of trees,
feeling the rhythm of
your heart beneath my feet
whisper of your breath
on my neck,
for a single heartbeat
a solitary eternity.
I’ll find myself again
burried in your summer
hair, dripping with
sunlight the color
of wild honey.
And make no map,
trace no line of
you on parchment:
but hold your landscape
Forever
in my heart