The landscape of you,
Which I long to explore,
The potholes of clavicles,
Plush rising pectorals;
Rivers of veins, tracing
Their ambient way
Down your elegant arms,
Pulse against your skin
Like a drum-beat tide.
The grey of your eyes,
Like the stormiest skies,
Nevermore cast in shadow;
And the lines of your laughter
Curve away like a footpath,
A road for your memories
Paved with those smiles.
Your skin is a map,
Which I still long to trace
With deliberate fingertips,
Yet still, I will choose
To effortlessly lose myself,
In the landscape of you.