If given the time (i would)
to trace the constellation
of your freckles,
make monuments of moles
and shrines of your scars
You have the map of all
the towns I’ve never seen
all the cities I’ve never slept (with you) in
Trail each strand to the root
and gently make a space for each
of your fingers in places
with mine, your head, my neck
No need for awkward civilities
We never needed to speak (to me)
an unholy breach in contact
less direct forward thinking
In a different time and
place your bare bones under
footpaths where we can finally
lay to rest with all the words
said and unsaid in lovers breathes