Generations of geographers,
astronomers, clockmakers,
worked their meticulous trades
to net the globe in tidy
squares—perfect locators
for explorers on new seas
and navigators across old.
34S, 151E—a small fact
carrying safety in
limited certainty.

But what geographer of the soul
can plot human latitude and longitude
to frame the lineaments of desire?
What cartographer can rule
love's meridian from throat to groin,
or love's equator circling the hips?
Where is the astronomer who marks
the Beloved as the North Star
to guide a stormy passage
through the amplitude of passion?

Blood and tissue resist tidy prediction
as yearning abandons all restriction.