infinite complexity belongs to berryman.
the map of his body.
at night you like to kiss the inside of his elbow where it's soft and untouched, trace your fingers over his skin like a map, plotting out the places you'd like to visit, the places on his body that you've already been. where the veins in his wrists run like highways, you trace the distance to his heart. you revel in his infinite complexity. You decide that the little bumps on the side of his neck are the catskills and you get lost in the map of his skin, plotting your way back even though you'd like it better if you were never found. in getting lost in his circuitous routes, in getting lost in his rocky terrain, you've finally found what you've spent your entire life looking for.