Opening up like that
Of a open book
With pages flipped and torn
Of stories read and worn
Dust laden, unheeded with scorn.
Opening up like that
Of opening a door
Unlocking the knob
For a flicker of hope to sneak in
Flooding with possibilities
In the corridor gloomy
Which lies devoid of any.
Opening up like that
Of a fresh wound
Unhealed, sore and stinging
Oozing with vulnerabilities
Deepest scars it unveiled
Exposing my bare skin,
For you to touch and examine.
With kisses to be caressed
Or with disgust to be abandoned.