She never thought she was an open book.

A plain cover created by her skin
Was bound with a sweet smile, a harmless look.
Yet she gave him permission to delve in.

On page seven, he skimmed her fingertips,
Holding her hand, giving bliss to her day.
On page forty one, he bookmarked her lips,
Making her gasp, stealing her words away.

He thumbed through a page explaining her voice,
And she couldn’t help but hum a verse for him.
And though he read her last page with no rejoice,
She faithfully fulfilled his every whim.

Then, he tucked her on the shelf labeled “LUST”
She’s been there ever since collecting dust.