I find my book open on her bed
as if she felt asleep
with it last night
and had no time to close
it before I came,
a strange kind of
bookmark
as if she is reading me
looking at me out
of the corner of her eye
to see if I noticed
a lemon twist smile
rising to her lips
when it is clear I have
what passages would she
underline about me
if she could
my foolish inability to articulate
what I want out of
life
or from her
me thinking of that old Elton John song
about all the young boys love Alice
with me substituting her name
I looked at the book
The Way I might a stage prop
an unspoken character element
that sets the scene
not needing to text me
in the middle of the night
to tell me how much
she is into me
it's all there on the bed
suggesting something
by its location
too scared dwell on
open to the last page
she read last night
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