You are a rare, unread, unfathomed book of beauty paramount, hidden between earthen hard-binding,
I've found you now, in the dusty, mothballed, cobwebbed corner of the library of my life,
With you in my hands now, I am angsty and restless, fingers shake as I race to consume you wholly,
Then slowly, tracing lines like scintillating words carefully strung together to masterpiece,
Each shining scar, a breathtaking twist of plot, every crease a masterful character,
I want to plunder into those eyes, the protagonist of this roller coaster ride,
I want paper cuts off your edges, want to dog ear the curves to revisit again and again,
I want to arch in the pleasure of your erotic beckoning, spill myself on your paper,
I want to lie with you in bed, inhaling the deep woody scent of you, tracing you lovingly,
I want to read between all your lines, leave charcoal scribbles on oft-handled corners,
I want to know all of you cover to cover, I want to know you differently each time I devour you,
I want to never put you down, escape into you, make you my world, weep and laugh only with you,
I've picked you unbeknownst that you would become my pivotal guide to loving-dom,
You are the habit, you are the salve, you are the perspiration of dreams, you are the way and the means,
And each time I touch you, I will love you once more, even when you are yellowed and old,
I'll pass this love down to generations ahead, it will always be remembered.....
that in your words,
I lived
