Be my cartographer.
Travel hills and valleys with work-roughened fingertips.
Trace outlines with your tongue, breath whispered along the rivers and streams.
Chart my life.
Record the tracks that line my face with your eyes.
Put into your memory the elevations that show the years on my body.
Let me be the places you visit, passport in hand.
New destinations and favorite locations you return to.
Caverns and deltas, all the plains covered in fine, soft, grasses bending to your touch.
Take my hand in yours.
Voice in my ear that no other country intrigues you.
Come home to me.