Maps

You fold me out
like the map
of eager scripture.

An anecdote of
hopes
stalling at the Dead Sea
scrolls of discontentment
storm me.

Avert your eyes!
There aren't the flaws
you burn to see
your irises frigid
from the source
of too many
wayfaring
dreams.

Skinning you clean
of the vows
that shake you like an albatross
Are you that guilty?

What is there
to give, when you've had the small globe
pressed between the tips
of your fingers?

Your heart lain, plastered
in the chain
steady with beats
around my neck,
forged from uneven links

Can I wear your pearls
in the same untempered fury?
the foolery of clams
stark with your list
of reasons
that fall off,
the illness their luminant ecru

Don't accept
that of which
you try to cherish
and give away

This tale has gone awry
and it's golden rule
of deceptive precision
is nonsense
when my submission
has passed you by.