Signs of Life

By: Julia Wakefield

The form of letters slop and curve on a page
like a human body. 
White paper, bare skin,
The line of a belt below a belly button:
the line of a notebook just below a sentence. 

Hold them in your mouth, with their own, subtle flavor. 
They'll curl your tongue and pull you closer. 
Words are kisses. 

When you're alone, left and abandoned by the ignorant messes that are people, 
take up a thick, solid book, open the pages, see the words. 
Let them touch you, with a kiss as old as time. 
Let them hold you, in a warmth too raw to be human. 
Let them fill you, with their gentle, pulsing rhythm.
Words are lovers.