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we met among the dusty stacks

of books from years gone by

each book was used and oft perused

their pages worn and dry


the bindings sound and leather bound

the gilding rubbed away

by many who their pages turned

to see what they would say


this was a shop that sold old books

not new but full of lore

wisdom, like wine, improves with age

and I was craving more


leisurely, I browsed the shelves

with others searching too

you were nearby - I caught your eye

your smile was warmly viewed


you sought your treasures...I sought mine

we browsed the self-same aisle

we happened to be side-by-side

after searching for a while


we both espied a book named “Poems”...

by Emily Dickinson

both reached to grasp it...make it ours

we touched - a thrilling one


that touch that lingered lingers still

that made us fast as friends

a thought was pressing as we touched

"I hope this never ends...!"


we talked of family, faith and fears

of laws and lies and loves

of things that made her freely laugh...

of hell and god above


the years adorn you gracefully

enquiring is your mind

you scintillate...you captivate

exceedingly, I find


we are two tomes who've seen their day

although we're worn...we're wise

our gilding gone...our hearts beat on

still, fire burns in our eyes


no cause for dust to gather here

our hearts both smolder low

as moths are drawn to tungsten light

we're brought together so


we leaned in, whispered, lured and laugh

our hopes were high and bright

our lustful places felt that need...

appeased with pure delight...


affection blossomed in those stacks

'tween arts and letters shone

where poetry and fiction live

Love in two hearts was sown