The Stain of Love

[thesunsetsonme]

if my heart was a thing,
a thing to hold and touch
with warmth and a texture
a thing that had a kind

my heart, it is a book
with pages, tear-able
tea-leaf thin, the pages
that are constantly read

if my love was a thing
a thing to fix or cure
a thing that one could smell
a thing that could allure

my love, it is a stain
like ink on virgin page
seeping through the cover
seeping through the day

the stain, it grows and bleeds
through words and sentences
the book, i cannot read
what i had writ before.