The Irrelevance of Itinerary

There were no more maps
just bite-marks and dry lips
that bled on their own.
Hair that stuck to skin
and smells that lingered on
like good music.

There were no more frontiers,
the proper guides left far behind.
Previous roads meant nothing now
and the mirror of time
was broken once and for all.

There were no more names
in this territory and everything
had stopped making sense.
There was no telling if they
would ever arrive or even stop.

Much of their time was spent
lost in the country of desire.
Destinations changed daily.
A touch, a glance or single word
could shift forever the travel plans
of all these crazy tourist-lovers.


previously published here September 5, 2012

1st place prize romantic poetry winner; Zygote magazine winter 1995

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