Scribed

I have been written
in pictures and hieroglyphs, 
my name has slid like Braille
beneath your fingers,

mine is the breath that whispers
past your ear in the night,
the touch that sends a tingle  
up your spine,

my words have passed before you
inked on the parchment of your heart,
and I have lain beneath your gaze
like an open book

you have read me
with your eyes, your fingers
and your tongue
and I have been left indelible
on the pages you carry with you
through the ages.



Janet Reid
may 2007