A heartbeat- loud enough to drown out the sounds. Gypsy rings- the ones that turn your finger green. A fire- crackling past the perfectly pitched logs. A silver chain- tangled and twisted like a drunken memory. Chipped nail polish- fragmented in the shapes of places you have never been. The lifeline on your left hand- too short for you to get anywhere that you want to go. A faded tattoo- the one that you regret like your eleventh drink last night. The red string around your wrist- the one that looks like trickles of blood when it is wet. The laminated bookmark- the one you ever so eloquently placed in my heart and walked away.
You are the cover of my favorite book. & when you open up I am at peace There isn't a spot of you that I won't Explore. From your open arms to your open legs. We are spontaneous. In the places we travel. My fingers but a mark to hold the page. From my eyes to my hands I always have time for you. We are spontaneous No matter where we are. No matter who is around From your open arms to your open legs. You are the cover of my favorite book. Your spine stretched against my hands
She was a rose, pressed into the pages Of a book, meant to hold a place. Instead of a page in a book, She held a place in his heart, Which she thought she would always have. But eventually, bookmarks are lost, And stories are forgotten, And all that is left is The smell of the binding As the book closes for the last time.
I’d like to call you a bookmark because I want to think I can remove you from my story at will. But you’re more like a dog-eared page, that remains creased long after it’s been remembered and unfolded. When I flip through the pages I’ll always catch my thumb on you and try to find the lesson you may or may not have taught me about love or myself. But I’m pretty sure all you’ve left me with is a deep, stinging paper cut that makes me hesitant to ever pick up a book again.
when she says she is empty, she is not asking to be filled. stretch her thin and you will see gold peeking through her worn body. stretch her thin and you feel her fire burning what you hold. do not hold her. when she says she is numb, she is not asking to feel something. do not wait out her novocaine mood drooling down her chin. do not wait out her novocaine high she is elated. do not bring her down. she is a bookmark holding someone else's place: do not move her. someone left her, waiting, she does not know the other side: that does not mean you show her. someday she will be fire. she will dry all that she has soaked with her ravine heart. you will follow her black markings to something gold she will be followed. do not be surprised when she does not moan, she will not moan, she does not feel. she is still ice. when she says she is ice do not try to melt her. she will be fire.