Inspired by ‘The English Patient’

body marked like a map of old
a visceral cartography of impressioned mountain ranges
red and pale, the ridges of spine and valleys of collarbone
the borders of skin against skin
a mapmaker’s ink of teeth and nails and hair

but there is no reason in this uncreation
nothing save for their shallow breaths
kneeling
falling
the briefest pause
a sensory respite
and then
drowning in an ancient river

Possible Song Lyrics

I remember you like
the taint of my nail polish on your skin
as I turned your wrist to and fro
trying to anatomise the mechany
of your floral veins
paint in the topography of our fingerprints
Fuchsia Rose toxicity
a sudden unfamiliar altitude
oh perhaps we should have should have

More ordinary, colloquial, casual than my usual writing.