Time sketched maps along your body,
Your silhouette has likeness to a Greek constellation.
Prophecies lie between your fingers and along the craters in your hands,
Wrinkles stretching like spider webs from your eyes are portals to pathways home.
Your warmth feels like a satellite of hope in the winter,
Your reach is far larger than I'd imagined, holding galaxies between your forearms.
For so long I've wondered;
unable to read the maps,
or hear the stories.
Who have I fallen in love with,
Tracing the lines through memory,
past nightmares and day dreams,
to carnivals and fire trucks.
A borrowed rear view mirror as my guide,
I've found my love, my sneaking silhouette, my gentle fingers.
I have not been forgotten.