The Message You Will Find in Every of Your Books

Heaving breaths between beating
Books–
Shelves where I am
Lain, where I
See myself wrapped between sheeves,
Hinted through smears of ink
And translucent
Whites–
Our dry, our wet–
Old
Pages
Ancient
Words.
I am–
I speak–
With you.

Man with fire–
I am,
Silver eyes,
What could I possibly
Tell you that you don’t already
Know?
But the clarity of this
Mourning, every
Possibility of death in me
I hold closely–
Writhing watchful eye.

If I see you
Tonight, will we
Blast the space again
Between eyes?

Do you
Extend past this
Time
As I do?
Are you as
Ancient, are you as
Spoken?

You are as reversed
As I. And I am
Temporarily anyway
Out of
Allusions
Or
Illusions to wall
Apart.

For now my forms
For you are
Every promised
Amalgam of your sure
Line.

Je t’aime.

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