Scars Poem by Kewayne Wadley

It's quiet moments like this that I enjoy.
The moments I hold you by your spine
and unravel you page by page.

Your edges a fragile but tough
Second skin. Desire bleeding through
the margin. Wet and lost.

A quiet storm brews from word
to word. A pause swirling, teetering.
From left eye to right.

My fingers at the helm merely drifting.
Lost in a crease of waves.
The pulse of printed ink wet and
smeared, bled and dried.

My fingertips navigating the grooves.
It's quiet moments like this that I enjoy.
I am but a reader, lost between the
covers. Lost in the secrets you've
hidden in your scars.