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Through lowered lashes
I try to picture you
as a topographical map.
Layers of skin translating to
black circles measuring
height and depth.

I study you openly
and struggle to draw the
planes of your body,
mutable as the shore; but you
refuse to dissolve
into angles and curves.

I attempt to navigate you
in a paper boat with angry folds
and ripped sails, charting the
wrinkled edges of your smile.
Somehow you have become
both my compass and my North.

You are the only thing,
living or still, that I
cannot seem to disassemble.
To break mountains and seas
into easy-to-swallow
pieces of heart and soul.

~~~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~

Psst! Don't look now, but your iambic pentameter is showing. <--More Poems