Poems & Stories

Like a Book

I stared at her.
I didn't blink.
She held me tightly.
She seemed to pause
as though she needed more time
to reinforce the meaning
that I try to explain.
I am patient. I will stay
until she continues on.
Even if she releases me
and abandons me here,
I will wait for her return.
She will come back, I can tell.
It's there, in her face.
She will finish what she started.
We read each other.
I study her face
as she tries to look through mine.
Mine shifts constantly,
always turning.
Hers never changes.
Not much.
It's pale peach and warm pink.
There are blue eyes,
with the trail of many
worlds and many words
written in their rings,
and on her lips
a shy and impish smile that breaks
the naturally inclining downward curl.
I want to make her laugh, to see
laughter escaping from her lips.
I will also make her cry.
I have that power.
She'll be embarrassed,
but she'll let me.
She'll only cry because
she loves me so.
I won't hurt her though.
Because as she rifles through
my pages, first gently
but more frantically
as more words go by,
she knows that I will not lead her
into any danger from which
she cannot escape,
she trusts me
to bring her through safely
and after all her sacrifices
I will give her
a sufficient
ever after.