By Zara Martins
run my nail along the spine like a lover
i crease thick paper and it cracks like splintered bone
cold pressed cartridge warm after my caress
slot and suture, every stitch a pregnant press until the textured skin is pierced
i hand bind a journal for the next year of my life
knotting as i go, i watch it take shape
acute and crisp, all milky pale with glue and spread beneath my fingers
wrapping it skintight in leather
i find the centre fold and slide a ribbon down it, saved for later
i hand bind a journal for the next year of my life
run my fingers down the plump signatures over and over
savouring the smooth slip, the tight corners, uncambered back
ripe and open for only me
but i can’t bring myself to scar it with pen
