pages

I see now, I see that you have to turn this page.

Slow, as to not tear this memory from my life in the hastiness of your hand.

Set me on that shelf and keep my thoughts quiet for just a while.

Visit me when you can or my words will fade.

And what my rhythms and rhymes shall explained is how the sight of your face made me cry with honest comfort and wounded needs.

Turn this page, but try not to turn completely away from me.