read me

Can you feel me infused in the ink?

I am absent,
only words on a page,
paradoxically present in your space.
It is not enough to feel you,
to penetrate your flesh with mine.
True intimacy lies between the lines.

Are you literate in love?

Love feels right when written,
when adulterous eyes are guided
down lingering lines.
Let your subconscious undress my syllables,
consuming your internal dialogue
with the monologue I script inside your skull.

Do you understand the metaphors I liken you to?

Your vocal cords rest
while your heart strings are tugged,
unraveling love embedded in a song unsung.
Yet the tune rings between your ears,
an invisible melody caught in your canal,
pulsing along to your heart’s hum.

Will you read me?

Pick apart my punctuation
sensual skepticism translating my true intent.
Trace each period pressing down,
mushy indents into my heart,
where each cavity reserves space
only to be read on the page.