by Ina

Your skin is paper
as my fingers read
the lines in your face
(though I know them by heart)
sensing what is new,
cherishing familiar stories,
rounding your chin,
then you read me the latest
as the nail of my index finger

glides over
the softness and hard
of your Adam’s apple
feeling the drum beat
from your heart
the comma at the end
of page one,
wanting to turn you over
and read on
where I left off.

Let’s rise, you say,
the paper is delivered.

3 Comments to “Braille”

  1. I was hoping for a different ending. Perhaps you were too?

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