You’ll always be my favorite muse

I want to spread your fingers,   fan  them

Like pages. 53, 54, 55. I want to read the

Words   written   on   the   lines  that  are

Engraved   into   your   palms.  Cup  your

Hands, let me breathe in that all – familiar

Musty smell. Ink from your fingers leaves

Traces on my arms. You only share what

I myself can see. But, I want you to show

Me everything.  I want to be able to read

Every   asterisk   on   your   body.  Every

Footnote   that  expands  on a  scar or a

Birthmark. I’ll take special care, because

I know how ticklish you can be and how

Sensitive   your   skin  is. That darkened

Expanse  of a  wonderland which  binds

Your  pages  together. Only  those  who

Read the author’s notes are able to see

The light hidden in the text. The beauty

Of  it all,  hiding  behind  this  word   or

That. The margins  offer room for  love

To grow. I know it’s been a  while,  but

Don’t smile  yet. I  wouldn’t  want  you

To        give       away       the     ending.