I woke up this morning with my face in a book
it smelled so sweet
it reminded me of you
I brushed the tip of my fingers against it's words
smooth, soft, mesmerizing
I pretended it was the pale of your lips
pausing the words I wish you hadn't said
indulged in the kisses you've yet to give
an epilogue, your ghost inside my head
paper spine, your bones resting on my bed
good-morning, love
it's been a long time since
I got my hands on your teenage poems.