If I Could Live on Paper

If I could live on paper, my ink would become the Surround of virtual voices. I’d be your tumbledown story: Your benedictus, your flying circus and passionfruit.

If I could live on paper, Sundays would grow wings in fold-out pages and falling pianos, dressed in the red and black of cleverdick crosswords lurking between the jars of applejuice.

If I could live on paper, pages would fall over frightened cities to steer the pavement clear of knitting; and unravel suburbia from its antimacassar apatheia.

If I could live on paper, you’d stroll with me along Marco Polo’s silken road and we’d lose our way to wayward exotica of ‘there is only me’ windowsills and mountain views.

If I could live on paper, I’d take you with me into the fabric of ideas and excerpts of your dreaming. I’d reel you in, let you drop by, between tag lines unannounced.

If I could live on paper, I’d sketch your thoughts and let them dry in the sun. We’d hold a paper chase, wrap lusting in tissue paper and leave cranes to melt in the rain

If I could live on paper, I’d pencil in my idea of you; draw your outline and leave every inch unedited. You’d be my every limited edition. Every word, declination, my every line.

If I lived on paper, my world would, Become.


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