elegant

You are as elegant & cherished
as all of the books that lined my shelves.
(I should have left you there)
But you were open & full
of blank pages.
So eager for me to bleed life into you
Spill my beauty out,
in creation.
& paint you,
a body of poetry.

So I stroked your spine.
Traced my fingers along
your white edges
& timidly, tenderly,
I gave you the lines
that I could.
I fear now,
that it left you more empty.

But if you look
there, where you're
Stitched together...
You will see,
Scrawled out in my ink
"You are the poem
I didn't deserve to write. "