Cartography, in Brief

Delicate, bending easily to your clutch. Impressing fingertip maps in my skin, pressing so hard because it is so easy, so easily one may destroy softness. Like nothing. Like wind passing by, us watching the moon eclipsed in dark fields. Because our world overwhelms and blinds us from various light sources. Lamp light is allowed, from a distance, to draw shadows from our tapping feet. Skipping across chasmic sidewalk cracks, pressing our white palms together because, full of weightless terror, we await our mothers' inevitable deaths. Because our palms weigh down with sweat, a solvent that like time makes this embrace a simple moment, an impress of fingertips.