Coming Home Again

When touching your two cheeks There's a map there of the first time The fingertips felt the smooth Flesh coaxing- not pushy, not teasing- The body's clumsy first attempt to start to speak Its own language. Hot breath and barely open eyes The arms circling round as if on a secret mission Known only to them Following along the maps compass points Feeling the hills and hollows Dipping and rising on the secret journey Fingers tentatively searching Straining, to hear the first faint echo: For the submarine ping to bounce back For the telegraph stations click For the train whistles arrival over the still vacant track Saying that my heart is safely back home once more Never to wander again.