My Book

I can read you like a book your soft delicate pages
as I turn over each emotion, a reaction, a look upon your face, a smile, they way you eat, how you talk, the change in tone in your beautiful voice.

I can usually tell if a cog in the machine which is you, is just just not catching that chain properly, I suppose you can say I know you every well.

You ask me to tell you what you’re thinking, I am not. Telepath, you may be a book, a book I could read endlessly from cover to cover however your delicate pages filled of hidden ink which are your thoughts , they are of your own.

I can only hold you tight, I can only fight for which is ours, I can only try a talk to you, these things we do are all things that help me not only read you but also understand that of which I am reading.