As my body wraps around you,
my brain can not.
I can read you.
The cover,
The title page,
And the brief summary along the backing.
But I cannot read the index,
The author’s notes,
The epilogue and all that makes you.
What you wish to remain hidden,
Stays so.
I push, but not too hard.
For I never want to push you away.
You are precious to me.
Much like a book,
A first edition.
A prized copy.
A signed, autographed wonder you are.
But rubber bands keep you unopened,
And I pull back on them
But they release and slap my hands.
I learn.
I must take one off at a time.
It hurts, but it is worth it.
For each rubber band I break,
I become closer to unearthing
Every page
Of you.

A dedication

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Vic
about 2 years

Beautiful

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