On the highest shelf in my bedroom
There’s a book written about you,
Its spine juts out between all the fiction
It is the colour of your flesh,
And along its spine,
your name is printed
beside mine
In white ink
The colour
Of your teeth,
I take it down before I go to sleep
On Sunday nights,
I smell its pages,
I rub its cover against my cheek,
I kiss it with two lips that are dry from six days of longing,
And
A day of prayer,
I kiss every page
until I sleep
Note From Editor
I really like the sustained image-work in this poem – the author has worked hard to create a metaphor-landscape which says so much more than straight description could. Metaphor is a fantastic way to begin exploring how to say the things we find too difficult or powerful to express in plain language. The thoughtful, almost dreamlike tone lends itself to the magical feeling created in the piece, and the ending is well-worked and thought-provoking.