Borders without countries

Now, I need to understand
There is Charm, in solitude 
Not the made up one, in a melancholy base
For love and loss and poetry, but 
that which jell on to your skin
Like tattoos of desire and sin.

This is how two ports should drift away,
Like planes of tectonic movements
Each one designing a continent of its own 
Of candle lights and islands.

Latitudes on your body
And shipwrecks on your shores.

There is no other side 
for an exhausted love
But, the grabbing chill.

Your abdomen,
Like a million spiders birthing 
As you gaze out of yourself 
from a long distance train

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