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