Navigation Points

Crossing the bridge, you find me
by touch alone; have turned off
your sat nav, dipped your lights.
You feel your way
past landmarks, signs,
the steady flow
of traffic.

When you arrive, though,
I am still at the threshold.
Standing by streetlight,
I think I am lost.

You smile, then,
lead me gently inside;
draw the curtains,
undress me by sight.

You lower your long dark lashes
just once: to trace your route
across my skin.
These moles, you say,
fine points for navigation.

You'll map my constellations, you explain,
know me anywhere.