The books on the shelves
will always be around
even when and if you’re no longer.
Oh, the surface of their pages,
the oozing air from their creases
fill me with childlike wonder.
They take precious time away,
but why should I have to choose
between them and a lover?
Not a situation I’d like to be in,
between the human and the object–
two needful communicators
to have to choose between, since both
take me to places I’ve never been
and make my heart leap by their elixers.
The titles will always be whispering,
and aloneness is a welcomed guest
to transport us to the leaves’ adventures.
