Ink blot

You are imprinted on me.
My wrist says you didn't sleep well,
My forearm; you're worried about your dad.

When you slam the door
It ricochets through the walls and my heartbeat.
I hold on and wait for them to steady.

I'm a walking billboard for your mood.
Go gently or the fibres part and, cloudlike,
I evaporate with the heat of your touch.

Transparency was never so complete,
I am so wide open I am inside out.
Feelings shimmer on my skin like an invertebrate

When you are restless I can not sleep.
I have blotting paper skin, your marks are on me,
Like your hand on my hip in the morning.