of cartography and skin.

I remember your hands, strong and callused

As they mapped the skin of my back

Fingertips trailing featherlight over ribs and shoulder blades

Tracing the fault lines of jagged scars,

Exploring familiar territory with tentative fingers

Like they were searching for something new, something holy

But if you ever found it in the pores of my skin

Then you took it with you

Reviews

[Rob Santana]

Nice piece.