I am a cartographer.
My fingers trace the hills and valleys that make up your skin,
Making maps I commit to memory.
If I ever lost my sight,
My hands could still sketch the curve of your jaw,
The shape of your ears,
Even the way your eyes crinkle when you smile at me.
I am an expert in making maps of you,
My brain a reference book full of all your states and territories,
Your history laid bare,
Written on your skin.
I am a traveler.
Though I\'ve journeyed through other strange continents,
Traveled distances far and wide,
Yours is my favorite country I\'ve traveled.
Having adjusted to your climate,
No stranger to the weather there.
I could spend days
Finding new paths to walk, new areas not yet explored
Spending hours
Tracing the lines of those long, long bones
Beneath your skin.
I am a bit of a ghoul,
I wonder
If I could lay out all of your bones, end to end,
How many miles would they cover?
(I asked you this once, and you smiled, and told me it\'d be more like feet, not miles.)
This a conversation, late, late at night,
When tired from all my travels, curled up in bed...
I know
No matter how far you roam from me
My handprints from all my travels go with you
On your adventures
You will always be my true North
Don\'t forget your compass.