Friday, November 20, 2015

the book

she held the book
like a baby
in her arms
warming it close
to her chest

he thought
she would never
stop smiling
as she caressed
its cover, and
rocked it gently

she stopped
her reverie

squeezing the life
out of him
in love and enthusiasm

he stood stiffly
sandwiched between
her and her prize

wondering when
she would
let him go

but, at the same time,
willing her to
squeeze him tighter

the darkness

he could die happily
that day
from the joy
that he gave the little girl
in her

if only
to rise up
and haunt her dreams
in between each page
of her precious

poem inspired by:

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