I wish I were the book
You hold so close to your chest
I envy the way you clench her spine
With your fingers riding up her nape
And run you other hand on her pages
First to read her, in words
And then you turn her leaves back and forth
To read her over again, in spirit

I envy how you carry her everywhere
In countless ways, days into nights
Longing to find a lonesome place
To begin reading her from where you left
And once you do
You smile, you laugh
You sob, you reflect
You fear, you blush
All for her
I envy how at the close of every chapter
Your eyes light up with juvenile impatience
Only to discover her more

But then again
If you do read me
I don’t want you to be ever done with me
Be unremembered on your bedside stand
I want you to keep coming back to me
I want to be your unfinished story
I want you to complete my verses
With nothing
But yourself