The young cartographer

You speak
like a voice in a dream.
My ancient mariner's compass
guiding me
under the wicked paths of the stars.

My eyes are on the road ahead,
navigating the car in a sea of darkness.
We're going somewhere,
purpose is an afterthought.

Outside our windows,

cars and hours rush past,
like other people's dreams.

In the dark of your windowed silhouette
I imagine your beauty
like a cartographer at work
on the mysteries of the universe.

The hushed smile, the inkwell eyes
the warm circle of your arms
tender feet and fistfuls of grace
draped in the earth of your skin

the margins of your infinity
tracing their electric outlines
on the map of a young man's heart.