he reads me like a book--
the kind he dog ears
and underlines,
the kind where the spine is cracked from
being bent back; folded; opened.
like the one he keeps in his knapsack
reading and rereading
knowing every line by heart
he reads me like that book.
my eyes; my moods; my resignation
he's memorizing
and folding the corners down
holding his place.
-hannah stone, well read
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