To the Writer Who Pegged Me Right...

Satsuma button a torn reminder of the writer who read me and printed my voice Pages uncut and unevenly binded with etchings of longing a life filled with choice Midnight pass quickly and frail me no more I yearn to delve deeper to see what's in store but my throat is quite aching and my eyes sting in salt I stand without blood pressure feeling to fall So lost in her words, so taken with expressions of me in her mirror of liquid reflections Cherry tree blossoms as snow on the ground as my heart sinks in silence, indelible sound Satsuma button to start a collection a reminder of the moment a soul pegs you right Rice paper marking my book with discretion as I rise with my countenance and bid you good night...