The letters peel away from the page.
and at a shift in meter,
they begin to waltz. Only then
feeling the stress of their feet,
The importance in their scheme.
They float away
from their parchment home
and sail toward me.
They kiss tears into my eyes.
They nestle in my eardrums.
They dissolve sweetly on my tongue.
They can burn you,
slash you and tear you
until you are ash and slandered.
But I see your watercolor landscapes
behind my lids.
I speak your memories behind my lips.
So, rest now.
End your twirling, your entrancing.
I will tuck you between the covers
and love you with every piece
of my simplest of hearts.
Photograph by Eugene Wineblat