My tongue remembers the delicate map it
traced across your skin,
venturing boldly forth to traverse the unknown,
and plot a course for my hands to follow.

Mountains of muscle resting below sun
warmed deserts of skin.
Criss crossed rivers of vein meandering lazily
in all directions.
Delicate fields of fine, soft hairs that stand to
attention as I pass through.

I survey, silent and unwavering.
Leaving behind only ghostly trails
of my devotion.