Untitled (#1)

As I watch your lined hands
(each displaying their own different
labyrinths of regrets and hard-pressed joys)
turn the pages of a well-loved book,
ink staining your fingers and fading the words,
I can't help but wonder to myself
When I'll get to take them in my own
(smooth to the touch and lightly tanned)
So I can kiss the imprinted phrases
And bury them beneath my tongue