I’m drawn to your listening face
its soft focus and calm demeanour
a cheek in your palm
book spread across your lap
your eyes tracing
your mind processing
your aura
open
sitting there
projecting nothing
the actor backstage
the artist in a daydream
the architect undressed
in serene exposure
I have read you
though unlike your book
your pages aren’t printed
with ink-bound cyphers
I still observe them
let them filter through me
eagerly anticipating
turning one over
to find the next.
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