You are made of
photos of cities
places I won't ever go
Soothing-wistful on bound pages
Smelling of ink and dust
and spilled coffee.
That slips out past
clenched fists/fingers
down your spine and over the covers
Through twisted tongues,
and letters, and conversations
Come past your language barriers
Thin like vellum, thin like paper
And rest your heart in my hands.