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World Atlas

Sarah Pozzuto

I think we need to talk.
Let’s talk.
Let’s draw maps of each other’s minds
and shade all of the spaces that match.
Shade them blue, Lapis blue,
and drown in each one as slowly as we can manage,
passing one breath back and forth until our lungs wilt,
pieces of origami paper folded into boats and set adrift.
Soaking and wilting, bleeding colors into blue,
dancers in Lapis blue.
Topographic diagrams of dissimilarity,
valleys where our fingertips touch
and slopes that we dig our feet into, wave to each other in the thinning air.
Let’s shade them green, emerald green,
searching and tumbling and opening like your lips on my skin.
I’ll be Lewis and you’ll be Clark. Let’s explore.
If I traced your eyelids with my fingertips, would I catch you dreaming of me?
I’m not sure what’s land and what’s ocean, where can I drown,
can I wake you up at night to tell you that I wrote a poem about you?
Is it strange if I say
I think every poem I’ve ever written has been about you,
but I can’t breathe sometimes when I think about forever?
I thought we needed to talk.