Let me learn the crests and valleys,
this mapwork work of your skin,
find beauty in every vitiated inch
most see as flawed, but I know
naturally formative of experience.
Allow me next to you
on Mars' sacred arid landscape,
finding hidden rivers
and reflecting pools
to hold our memories.
Permit me that smile
creeping across your lips
as you walk through night skies,
picking bouquets of flowering stars,
freshly in bloom
and neatly wrapped
in comets' tails.
Holding your image carefully,
I've tucked you away
between brainwaves,
safe from the deep sleep of time,
figuring your figure
too precious for decay.
And though you've privileged passage,
I am plagued with hands unable
to run their familiar tracks,
watching cascades of violet twilight
run through my fingers,
down that nook behind ears
I'd whisper sweet everythings into,
taking off at your neck
just as we let the music
open our shells.
Setting out as astral projections
our dances innately elemental,
yet intricate,
all spirits and gods we'd cross
rapt in our movements.
And in an instant
we'd finished,
pirouettes had you engulfed
in a dress-skin fusion,
drifting into a ravishing
black hole finish
as I'd burnt out,
causing time to split this mind,
both sides struggling to grasp
which course I'd been carried to.
Left back wishing for some insight
on your skin's stunning topography,
searching for those pools
in which I can wonder
what you ever did
with those bouquets you'd made,
and wishing that
I didn't have to wait
to see if this time
will lead me down a different path.