Love Poem #3

Why is it that something as trivially stupid as earache - otitis externa - can effectively disable a person for almost a whole week? If the Designer is indeed Intelligent, then what fucking purpose did he have in mind for pain after the first 200 hours?

A poem, then. Love Poems #1 and #2 have got some good feedback on the newsgroups and are gearing up for a redraft. Here's a new one. The title is, I think you'll agree, revolutionary:

If I was to map you, my first elevation
would be the mounds of your mouth,
the care with which they cradle
your teeth, that tongue of yours
that flaps in streams of friendly winds.

I would mark the parchment
with your real dimensions,
disregarding the flow
and ebb of adipose.

Your hands would be a challenge - they fly
so fast to investigate the world: can
birds be mapped from the tundras
of the north to the shores of Gabon?
I'd have to vector them, perhaps mark
each finger with a symbol: here be
steeples, dense urbanisation, paradors.

I could map you with a card
for Valentine's day, but I think
I prefer to be folded
inside your elbows, close
like lips, tongues still.