Gestures

Her words like
antique ink
sunken into vellum
read a million
times - sunk into me.

Fold lines that fold
themselves
like hinges - a door
to memories
of us -
words dancing
across the
meadow of her
page
the riches of
other days.

Be careful how you
open her
the toughness - the
moxie a
masquerade she
kills with
miniscule gestures.