O la joie d'être pleinement aimé !
ô le désir de s'ouvrir par le milieu comme un livre !
Open me in the middle like a book.
No matter what the page, you’ll find your name.
Run your long fingers down where I once took
A pen and drew a heart of ink and flame:
The one that burns in me and always writes
In blood of you whenever it feels love
For all your inarticulate delights—
Which I devour and never weary of.
It’s all and only lines and pretty phrases.
Part fact, part fiction; but each word is true.
I like to think it comforts and amazes.
It only lacks one positive review.
For I’m what nothing on this earth can age:
A book of love without a final page.
Copyright 2016 Matthew J Wells