I scavenged around the musty shelves of the desolate bookshelf searching to stumble upon something that represented a segment of my self. Each book emanated a lucid scent from years of being caressed, tear stained and ravaged. At times, I want to crawl within those pages and absorb some other person’s life…someone who carried this book within the embrace of their arms, day after day. Open up. Step inside. Consume.
Step back.
Unravel my palms from within the leather bound books.
My own book overflows with pages of pungent passion.
p.a.s.s.i.o.n.