Some days you are the wall in my room

That I lean against and think

Or the ceiling above my head

that I stare longingly for hours

Some days you are the coffee

That I sip and savour slowly

Some noons you are the swing

Where I take my short siesta

Many days you are the paper

On which I rage and write

Or the pages of the book

whose words become you

Most days you are my phone

That I kiss when you talk

But every night you are my pillow

Smeared with faint drops of love


 Similar poetry: We could be anything

Away from you 

Mutual Murder

Would you end it?

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Of One Skin