Manuscript

The-Lovers-by-Rene-Magritte

She traced her poem on my skin
so when I breathe I breathe her in,
each touch a treasured silken word
too gentle to be overheard.

Upon my heart she wrote her book
on which no others eyes may look,
so now my life’s love story told
the pages close no more to fold.

© Wolfgar 2019

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