My Map Draws Me Closer.

Into the woods and over the brook.

It is the loneliest of sojourns.

The sound of your own footsteps,

Pressing grass into a trail.


I long to take you by the pinky

To walk this landscape

And see the ease of redemption

From atop the hill of yesterday

And the valley of tomorrow.


In the grass

I shall lay you down

And press your shape into the soft blades

And the blessing of today

To feast upon your time.


I will listen to every breath you take

And I shall breath with you

Tasting my map, easing a trail of kisses along your sides

And up to your breast to meet your watering mouth.


My fist will close in your hair

And my hips will pin you the earth.

Your pinky, forgotten.

But I will still have it in my hand.

To remind us that the clouds are only specters

Shaped into forms we desire to exist.


Without us

They are but only a wall

Between heaven and now.

All of these poems and more can be found HERE in the anthology “A Cartographer”.