Mapping You: a Sonnet

In the way that from the sky mountains look
easy, like crumpled bed sheets, or dough, I find
you–shoulders for stone, your body aligned
into the Carolina pines, the crook
of the skyline all elbows, knees. Mistook
the early March green for your eyes entwined
into each blade of grass, assigned your
Latin name to undergrowth that I took
to be familiar. This is the way I
hold you: my hair under your arm, our hands
finding each other in sleep, while stray thighs
meet like the Santee and Atlantic. Lands
with nothing more than their own terrain, shy
breezes like you kissing my back, unplanned.