I do not know…

I’ve slept with you all these nights
entwined bone and blood and still
still I do not know your body,

and each time we touch, I discover,
its breath and its silences, its fault
lines and scars or where its bees

and honey hide. Again and again I
find your body each night, and if you
ask me to draw a map, I would need

to draw it with light against the night
where I know you best, and yet

I would fail, still, because I do not know
your body and I am patient while I discover
each stone and each shadow, each avenue

and the hidden playground of your heart
where angels play dominoes and perfect
their flying, and I do not know your body,

except only partially and what it shows me
beneath our touching.

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