Reluctant Cartographers

There are words
that should only be spoken
into the solemn skin of a sleepy lover
In the closeness of an exhausted room

Losing track of time
reluctant cartographers set out
as sighs

Faint tracings over contours
and hidden reefs

Mapping the gentle anchorage
of the palm of a hand
in the small of a back

Placing names beneath gestures
Stripping emblems
from the statuesque calm
of an understanding

Guiding
lips to the cusped arch
of an ear
to speak in whispers