Geography of Love

Allow me please to get lost in your hair. 
I promise you won’t even know I am there 

Lest you think you might like to play coy, 
Then I’ll swing from a strand like a casual toy. 

If you can, don’t let me get lost in your eyes. 
Or I’ll lock myself in while the land around lies. 

Held captive, I might not get where I want 
And the lay of the land will tease at and taunt. 

For I must scale in time those highest of peaks 
Where panting breaths sound a yodeling speech. 

From there I’ll come down the mountains with care 
Where the stretches of heath lay boundless and bare. 

I’ll stay for a while on the flattened expanse 
Where softer breaths swirl in much plainer dance. 

God! Give me consent to your yawning thighs 
Where I’ll open that cave with lurid-like sighs. 

Then let me please go where no one does pass. 
With tongue, like a blade, I’ll mow down the grass. 

The permission you give to enter your lair 
Is heavenly sent and utterly fair. 

Some say this is like a descension to hell. 
The riddle though is if I walked or I fell. 

Yet if this is the way, I haven’t been told 
And all I can say is I’ve mapped my own road.