I told her
Do not wrap your hair around your fingers
and claw at the nape of your neck.
There is no zipper in your gorgeous flesh
and no laces in your spine.

Break your fingers and
stare too long into the sun.
I pray you stand on the porch and
smile at the oncoming storm.
I will chase it away and catch your breath
when you are winded
from running out of time.

I was perplexed by your
martyr complex
when you followed the red roads
searching for that which I have hidden
in my own skin.

And if you feel you really must
find your way to the dead end path,
You must first carve
the map from my own flesh.

I will be your guide.
I will not let you go.