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.
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”.