I am spread out on your kitchen table
a few pages torn
but generally an open book otherwise
only promise
not to let m get dusty
I don't fall open for just anyone
and it has been minutes or months
other papers are piling high
and there I was spread open
but you had work to do
fever in your hands
for other loves
I couldn't drag you past the intro
spill your coffee on my pages
if it means you'll run your fingers
over
and dry me off
with the truth.
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