My heart always writes you into books,

books bound with my bones for spines

and inks made of blood.

Weaving enchantingly glorious technicolour

words across my skin.

And I always wondered if you knew?

Did you know my heart puts you

into every story, poem, thought.

Puts your name in every page

of the books written

across my skin.

My heart the artist

and you?

You it’s only love…

.x.