thoughts of you come in pairs
     like stanzas of the most beautiful poem ever written

yes
          you

you read like an open book
tattooed with elloquent confessions
and articulate interpretations of the thrum of existence

i'd trade any gem
from the shelves of my library
to be able to run my fingers down your dusty spine once more
     and read your vertebrae like braille
my phalanges eagerly slurping the sweetness of your flesh

oh
          you

sole proprietor of the laylines of my fingertips
     well versed in the science of touch

the world-class professor of the art of feeling
     you taught me to feel everything
in a blurb of sunlit hours

ah
          what i'd give
          to be a page-number in your story