Cartography
I count the syllables of your dreams,
tracing my way home,
using each one as a compass;
Pulling me to you.
Your tongue outlines this map,
shooting stars into the mouth
of a lost sky.
I can feel your veins pulse
against the skin of discovery;
wild drums beat in the
heart of my prowl.
The lashes of your eyes,
in the sway of trees,
scatter across the
break of my horizon,
pushed by the breath
of words spoken
in vivid slumber.
“I can hear you.”
-James Kelley 2014, All rights reserved.
|