A Call of Uncharted Plums

Oh, dear explorer
Your open-ended
wishes
so Entice.

Elevated places,
in between ruins of
memory, amnesia
and 

the 
linger of the wind on
a cheek. This. One. 
Here. 

Oh, dear explorer,
you straddle the 
forgotten, not forgotten,
and the smell of this 
dirt; 

warm your eyelids
now, those
solar panels of
Presence. 

Cartography, used 
by many, yet 
deep and personal 
- plums;
tongues not recognized
exciting your inner 
desire,
uncharted desires.

Echoes of sounds
whose waves have 
not yet
formed, break
your shores
anyway. 

More and more,
Call to me, dear adventure,
your directions unclear,
smothered in fog,
crispy with the aftershock
of lightning strikes and your 
waylaid kin. 

More and more,
Call to me, dear adventure,
your pinned points, an electron
in more places than one,
if looked at, not there,
but everywhere at once. 

Call to me, adventure, dear,
your promise of nothing,
of cruxes, queries and
precipitation;

Vacillating nights, but sure
Cloaks of velvety
stars, Devotees
for one's any condition. 

Promises not needed,
for the promise of your 
many 
Returns. 

Do you still favor the bold?

Call to me, adventure, 
sweet lover,
And I shall always report.