Love as Maps on the Skin

By Drakovi Bloodrose

Lines drawn, unseen yet pressed —

maps only you can read on my skin,

etched like rivers finding paths

in quiet places, winding beneath.

Love hums, silent like ink soaked deep,

circles and spirals, paths tangled and true.

Not paper but pulse, not compass but hum,

a direction felt, no place to come from.

You mark me here, here, then here again,

leaving stars I only see when I close my eyes.

A strange sky painted on a single frame,

where the constellations shift and call your name.

Love is angles that make no sense,

curves of light that bend through air —

a language known by touch, by trust,

a map of everything, everywhere.

Simply Drakovi