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The Map

His gaze traced the curve
Of her concupiscent hip,
Considering the swelling arc
Of his own intentions as she
Circumscribed the roundabout
Of his suspiring mouth and eyes,
Juggling them restlessly,
Feeling the tender weight of each.
They noted each other’s coordinates
And carefully impressed datums
Upon the privacy of their own
Well-traipsed, battle-scarred paths.
She revelled in her ingénues
Whilst inhabiting the traffic
That stealthily wove its way
Along his rutted, beaten path.
Observing him chart her turns
As she, turning, charted him,
They translated each other
Into the purplest of prose.