The Geography Of Love Poem by Patrick VincentBrown

Allow me please to get lost in your hair.
I promise you won't even know I am there

Lest you think you might like to play coy,
Then I'll swing from a strand like a casual toy.

If you can, don't let me get lost in your eyes.
Or I'll lock myself in while the world around lies.

Held captive, I might not get where I want
And the lay of the land will tease at and taunt.

For I must scale in time those highest of peaks
Where weighty breaths sound a yodeling speech.

From there I'll come down the mountain with care
Where the stretches of heath lay boundless and bare.

I'll stay for a while on the flattened expanse
Where softer breaths swirl in much plainer dance.

God! Give me consent to your yawning thighs!
Where I'll open that cave with lurid-like sighs!

Then let me please go where no one can pass.
With tongue, like a blade, I'll mow down the grass.

The permission you give to enter your lair
Is heavenly sent and utterly fair

Though some say this is a descension to hell.
The riddle though is if I walked or I fell.

Yet if this is the way, I haven't been told.
All I will say is I've mapped my own road.