To be the hem that grazes your bare leg

or the perfume that splashes your skin

the page that bows with your delicate touch

or the book by whose pages are turned

to be the napkin to which your lips are pressed

the ceramic cup from which you drink

to be your drink.

I would engross you

like your favorite book, read again.

I could be as warm and familiar

as your morning cup of coffee, refreshing

as your first lap of water. I would be the dog

lying at your feet, if only you’d pet me

from time to time.

But alas, I am the fly

too timid to alight on your wrist

to even buzz about your head.

Instead, I watch you from afar

with my million, mosaic eyes.

Photo by Laura Lascarso