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.