Your Back

Starring at your back,

I don’t know when I sketched my mother’s face on them

How her’s like yours speaks in same tongue,

Telling me,

 That love is a meal best served black

Best enjoyed with tales of home and the longing for it

Your back is a map,

Clear and distinct,

I don’t know when my handed journeyed across the line in between

Making stops at the checkpoint of dimples beneath

As the nape of your neck calls me by name

In same tongue as that of my mother

Did you ever know her?

Were you sent by her?

Are you the comforter that was promised?

Too many questions,

But before you answer them,

Allow me stare at the wonder of your back

And the stars that rest on them

 photocredit-ubuntutalks