The Book

by Sarah Flint

He’s a closed book.

A hard back cover of control

Hides his story

Until a grin flashes across his face

Like lightening

And I hear the pages rustle.

A deep salty kiss lets me taste

The text with my tongue.

Later

In the sweet sweat of bed sheets

I gently prise open the cover and

Start to unstick the pages

His gift:

He lies wide open for me to read.

But it’s a short story:

I hear the slap of the book closing

Before I reach the end.

Sarah Flint is a solicitor turned gardener turned writer.

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  1. #1 by ramsea on January 25, 2012 - 9:53 am

    The metaphor works and the poem eases along with it. Good stuff.

  2. #2 by jennifer walmsley on January 25, 2012 - 11:19 am

    Yes, indeed a good poem. She wanting to know him. He allowing just some small knowledge and then..

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