Aside:

I love someone:
His curled yellow pages, his
Twisted edges molding into
Blinding white sheets behind uneven print.
A shoebox, a toothbrush, a jar,
The smell of a letter, 
My relentless adhesive.

When the title fades the words lose meaning the syntax fails.
Bury the pages in the dirt
watch something grow from your story.
Unfurl the petals of your diction,
preserve them in a dictionary,
weave them between your fingers
stitch them into your palms.

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