To Think of You as a Map

To think of you as a map:
To think that once I did not see you as I now do,
the compass rose of your eyes:
a rose from your lips
a compass from the intent of your mind
pulsating beautiful bronze-age thoughts
to the crisp edges of you,
beyond to the earth.

To think of you as a map,
your rivers of purple blood flowing
quietly underground with the murmur pulse
that is your heart,
your fingers, of course, the greatest roots of
deep forests blooming with soft creased
moss beds in their own quiet microcosms

To think of you as a map,
and I, some simple traveler
worn in the face with dust and sand,
am ever so simply finding the treasures in your exes,
looking for the dotted lines that
trace around swamps and through mountains

To think of you as human?
how could I?
For something so old of soul
in body of human would surely die;
and something so pure of intent
in mind of human would be unborn;
No, you must be a map
a travel companion, guide:
The two of us pushing into the wall of
oncoming sand together,
sifting through the fire of desert
for a lifelong treasure.

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