The Shepherd and the Ram

A quest to a different El Dorado.

i've always wondered why the scars on your wrists
sometimes spelt my name
and why your ribs, when they showed through your skin
seemed to me like counting sheep
that you'd herd in your breast.

i've always wondered if the curves of your neck
would lead me to El Dorado
and if the delta of your hips
would let me drown in you.

i've never feared the viper's kiss, and that counting your dozen bone sheep
drove me to comatose
but the hail in your iris makes me feel so cold.