The sheets

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I ran my fingers down spines looking for answer to questions.... not thinking. 
Finding myself spiraling through words I was pulled in and stayed there, until I read every line, pictured every scene, felt every emotion~ between the lines, in the margins, drawn, scribbled and written were the answers I needed, wanted, desired and called forth. 
Your truth.. is now.. our truth, dare I say my truth. It made me want more, to go deeper, feel more, fill more and be felt more.  Images of women danced in my head.. wanting to know them, see them, but most importantly be them, between rows of sheets and multiple spines coming multiple times across the lines. I wonder if I saw her would I know her, could she see in my eyes what was in the mind. Would she know that I know how smoothly she flows, rather glides, across the stages at different phases of your life? 
But then I saw reflections of me and traces of we. Still not knowing what was unfolding as I unfolded the pages. I love you popped in my mind for a very short time caught up in the lines. But I digress, so I move back to the stress of emotions pressed into small places. I had a dream that went like this and one that ended like that. Damn telepathy at its best could not be more accurate in how it was or will be for me but it’s not me. It is we; every woman, every scene every emotion in every way, like a well authored play it got me to sway and bend and buckle with just a couple of rhymes.
And I lie to myself about the knowledge of wealth or wealth of knowledge that is before me, it could be me... but it isn't... which makes it hot in my head from the doubt that is shed by still having my composure without the exposure of being spread eagle, wide open, naked, bare and vulnerable between the sheets