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.