Book Stores

You have ruined book
stores for me. What
an awful, inconsiderate
thing to do.

But while I browse
the shelves, touching
my finger to each
spine, tasting the words,
I begin to time travel.

I time travel to the hours
we ambled around novels
together. I might pause
at a volume and you
would make some comment
about how it sucked even
though you hadn’t read
it yourself. And you kept

your fingertips to my hips
with playful affection.

You see? I lost myself
again in the stacks. This
is why I hate book stores.





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