you crept so silently
around the edges of my paper-life,
bled like
rainwashed watercolours
through my very fibre
and soon it became apparent
that i could not turn a page
without finding you,
uncurling your far-reaching love
like vines
or ancient script
that spelt out your affections,
my tacit shepherd.

small and unassuming,
you lingered where i left you
and made places for yourself
everywhere i didn't.

i would have let you in much sooner,
had i known it was you
who waited ever-patiently
outside my gate.