Aisles of endlessly strung words are bound
Together like the long of his spine,
Reminding me of time.
How everything takes time
Relentless, infuriating, patience.
They try not to judge their books by our covers
(I prefer to read mine without).
I dusted him off the top shelf,
Nuzzled in-between some Ebersole and Wordsworth—
Some philosophical romance circa 1992.
Place me in the front of the library,
I’ll compete with 50 Shades of Grey.
I don’t mind being read,
I’ve been considered for the book club more than once this year;
Wrapped tight, impact font and a touch of colour.
Interpretation has always been a friend in my eyes
And I’m wide open.
Only, I don’t want you to read between my lines.
I’ll reveal my invisible ink if you’ll do the same.
I could strip myself down further than my flesh,
Uncover a story I’ve never told.
Maybe you should take a trip to the bookstore
And find me.