The Book of You

This book
Reminds me of you.

It is funny and quirky and clever and complex and flawed,
And I want it more and more with every page I turn.
The protagonist fascinates;
She is caring and selfless,
Selfish and cruel,
Powerful and gentle
Warm and ice-cool.
She is darkness and light and everything in between
And she reminds me of you.

If we were still friends I would buy it for you.
I would wrap it in embossed purple paper and spend an age

Trying to think of something witty but meaningful to write on the tag.
I would consider a ribbon then discard the idea,
Scribbling β€˜yours, as always’, as I always do.

If we were still lovers I would read it to you in bed
Your head resting on my chest, you silent and calm,

Your pale blue eyes tight shut
As the words poured over you.
I would smell your hair,
Breathe you in,
Cup your small white breast in my hand
And stroke you like a cat.
You would purr and stir,
Your hand moving beneath the sheet
To rest on my thigh.
We would kiss
Then fuck like we had all the time in the world.

*

This book reminds me of you
So I fold it shut,
Put it back on the shelf
And walk away.

Like most of my poems this was pretty much a stream of consciousness. I could have (perhaps should have?) expanded it to explore the full potential for metaphor – a library of you, no less! I may get around to that some day, no doubt incorporating terms like ‘well-thumbed’, and ‘dog-eared’ and making observations about missing pages and scribbled notes in margins, but not today. And not in this poem.

6 thoughts on “The Book of You”

  1. I agree with Cathie – I never know what I am going to get when I come over to your blog and whatever you do, I always enjoy. This was no exception πŸ™‚ Fab – and I love that you wrote exactly what you felt using the exact words you wanted to. Thanks for linking to Prose for Thought πŸ™‚

    1. As it says on the homepage – like Forrest Gump’s chocolate box! As for the ‘own words’ thing: in this case something as mimsy as ‘making love’ really wasn’t an option. Not that there’s anything wrong with making love – or even luuurve – but sometimes it’s a bit more urgent/combative πŸ˜‰

      Thanks for comment πŸ™‚

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