A Poem: For the Bibliophile and the Hopeless Romantic Too

Books

I used to read books...

For it is far better to drown in a novel than to drown in a cesspit of morose souls.

But I slipped.

Became curious.

Drowned.

For a little while.

But as I pick my book up on this bitter cold day.

I am reminded of the trail of warmth your breath would leave in my hair;

as you whispered curious words into them.

Your tantalising touches.

Your incessant fiddling with my soul.

And that's when I realise that mother was right to drown me in books for

the entirety of my life.

She'd always hoped I wouldn't look up.

Look past them.

But she raised a curious girl.

At times,

a fickle girl.

And now I return to my beloved books.

With demons on my mind

and you on my tongue...