Paper

The touch of paper against my skin,

Smooth,

A ghost of the varnished table or wooden door you could have been.

Instead you're here beneath my fingers,

Waiting,

Ready to save my thoughts upon your sheets.

Even when my memory fades the ink still lingers.

 

paperpoetryWriting

◄ Time

Wind ►

Comments

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Stephen Atkinson

Tue 21st Sep 2021 20:19

I'll never look at paper the same again 😄. Nice one

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