she liked to write stories
on my body
I was a blank roll of paper
absorbing all the ink
flowing through her fingertips
she wrote pages and pages
of words on my skin
that I was no longer an empty slate
but now a fully fledged book
that only we could read
but when she left
her words didn't follow her
they stayed
branded on my flesh
for every passerby to see
because of her
I now look for her writings
in the touch of new lovers
but they never seemed to imitate
the same magic that she could
with just her fingers
because of her
I am now an old book
on a shelf
too high for anyone
to reach
but high enough
that I can still
watch you write
poems on the bodies
of others
the same way you did mine
-ken m
YOU ARE READING
my own god
Poetry"when your soul leaves your body write my name in the stars so I know you're out there waiting for me" pretty words that need their sanctuary 6/21/19
