Christa Lou


Borrowing A Book

Your skin is freckled with neon-yellow highlighter
Ballpoint ink spiders across your cobweb eyes.
When you talk your lips are coated with yesteryear
(“The wise are never good, and the good never wise”)

I folded my heart in your dusty pages
And when I came back to collect it
There was nothing left in the place that it marked
Except a fading, pressed cowslip.

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