#poem #poetry #amwriting july


it's under the skin -
curls and quivers
and occasionally aches

it kisses you when sleeping
and mutters words of love -
so deep - heartfelt -

and your hands become paper
expensive and heavy
- the dimples holding ink -

when the sun rises pink -
it comes not as as opportunity
but as a chore

not unwillingly undertaken -
but it lacks the thrill of snow

The Blue Book