paperback spine.
you have a paperback spine.
it is creased with liquid white.
liquid moon.
i trace my piano fingers
to feel your used.
the used is how the white came about.
the stories you've lived and told.
you wouldn't tell me that it was
painful
but i've already read it.
your paperback spine.
there was bad.
and there was good.
you've seen colder winters than i.
i've asked before if you regret
your paperback spine.
if it becomes unbearable to show
vulnerability as a color.
as the liquid moon
dripping down each crevice
you said no
because honesty
was what made the liquid moon white on your back.
you were proud of that.
and i didn't ask anymore.