Maps

Smell of burning flesh
downstairs where
the sea unfolds
like a simple fan in warm rush of wind you map me like
a pioneer in new territory.
take me to your
lips like
salt.
I am your bride
you groom me like
a swift
palomino or
a spider down
a crooked
spine. I am
wet with you.
How to measure
this
no morning
left
no future
to
mourn
no sailor
hoarse from
that husky
shore
where
our
feet meet
under
the sheets
like
a couple of
lost
souls.





By Jayne Lyn Stahl

from Riding with Destinyall rights reserved.