Gone Again

He knew I wandered off the cobblestone
of some maps misdirection
with the way my luggage anticipated
it's next leave,
like a child
avidly awaiting adulthood
heedless to what shakes beyond;

but what would one presume
coming from a suitcase
adorned with frilly dreams,
I suppose I'm either well-written
or overly said, his tongue spoke
of neither
amidst my own

we made love that night
beneath the heavy embrace
of fog,
so many hands
and not nearly enough words
roused the air
with poetry

and now that I've emptied my bags
of all adolescence,
his eyes went seaward