I can draw a map
of you from memory,
tracing constellations
of your spots and scars
that only exist
in my fingertips.
I’ve traced the remains of your kisses
on my skin so often
that I can feel the outline
of your lips on my body.
Your taste returning to me
in my lonely hours.
I’ve memorised where
your skin rises lightly
from the ink of your tattoos,
as if your body were written in braille
and I’ve had to learn a new language
just to read you
I can draw a map of you
from memory,
the lines of your skin
still imprinted in me,
following the paths
my hands have learned
and the places
my body begs
for you to return.