I would spend a lifetime writing volumes
About her. Each protruding rib would be
The slim spine of a Moleskine. I’d adapt
A daily journal for her mouth.
Three-hundred and sixty-five pages
Divided between her lips and tongue.
Another would be for her smile. Two
Years, gone by just like that. I’d add
A couple of pocket-sized notebooks for
Her eyes. I’d trace the shape of her body
Curled up next to mine, and I’d mail it
Along with a poem of how beautiful
She looks when she’s asleep. Another
Notebook would be filled with a
Description of her reading what I’ve
Written. The way her slender finger
Traces each line, and how she bites
Her lower lip when she finishes and
Starts to read again. So far, she’s been
Through seventeen notebooks.