I could never tire
Of reading
The planes of your face.
The slopes,
The tilts,
The ridges,
The hollows,
The crests,
The troughs.
I could never
Be bored
Of
The shallow sound of your breath.
Your skin wrinkling into a frown.
The narrow pleats of concentration
between your brows.
The incurable curl of your hair
that you pull into straight silence.
The tiny scar from a past
I wasn't a part of.
The sum of the parts
May not be the whole.
But, on a slow day
This itinerary of effects
Can still see me through.
