Body Map

She traced the continents
time had mapped on my forehead.
My nose yielded its secrets of
rough crags and hidden crevices.

Her tongue traveled to the delta of my lips
and explored the rivers flowing across my tongue.
She slid down my neck with the help of her nose,
her mouth left a trail of lip locks as postcards.

On the plateau of my chest she lingered for a while,
inhaling the smell of civilization, hearing the basic rhythm of life.
She traversed the smooth plains of my stomach like a seasoned traveler,
sheltering for a moment in the shadows of my navel.

My back became an open ground
where she played games with her fingertips,
fighting battles with stiffened muscles, and
feeding the frenzy of rippling skin.

Every measured movement of hers
opened up my flesh like an atlas.
Her dimples gave me direction, her lips latitude,
while her hands struck boldly across my southern shyness.

I could not stop her probing fingers
from proclaiming freedom for my senses.
Nor could I resist the soft music
her slippery skin played on mine.

In her naked embrace,
I was a nation without borders,
I was a country without a capital,
I was a world without war.