Let me read your diary;
cause I’m selfish,
cause it’s the closest I can get
to reading your wild thoughts,
to being inside your beautiful head
watching the colours dance,
the mystical memories pass
behind your eyes.
Let me see words
that have moved from your mind
through the cracked pen
& onto lined paper;
losing something
but still fire
& magic tricks
& glittering wonder.
Can’t I peek behind the curtain?
Honesty turns me on.
But oh how delicious
just to know the diary exists.
Maybe I don’t need to read it;
I’ll just listen
to your heartbeat
instead