When touching your two cheeks
There's a map there of the first time
The fingertips felt the smooth
Flesh coaxing- not pushy, not teasing-
The body's clumsy first attempt to start to speak
Its own language.
Hot breath and barely open eyes
The arms circling round as if on a secret mission
Known only to them
Following along the maps compass points
Feeling the hills and hollows
Dipping and rising on the secret journey
Fingers tentatively searching
Straining, to hear the first faint echo:
For the submarine ping to bounce back
For the telegraph stations click
For the train whistles arrival over the still vacant track
Saying that my heart is safely back home once more
Never to wander again.
this is lovely