when the wrinkles stretching like dusty roads across your achilles tendons
turn into the red and green highways tangling themselves across a map
and when the valley of your lower back accepts my kisses like low-hanging clouds
over fields of tall yellow grass
when your shoulder blades reach up towards me
like lightning rubbing the clouds in the darkness of the morning;
your eyes like a tempest,
always foggy blue with waves overflowing out of the corners
when they just can't take the cold icy winds or boundaries of the shore;
when i see your lovely eyes when looking at dusty roads and maps and valleys and grass and clouds and oceans,
that's when i give my entire world to you.