I'd like to open a book with no end
And fall into pages like wings of doves
Ropes of black ink lift me up and suspend
Till book covers close, like soft folding gloves

My fingers itch until met with strong words
The word isn't fully seen unless through
Pages like windows, fluttering like birds
Dreams of a glittering world that's untrue

See, the best kind of dream is just sighing
All curled up under blankets, soft angles
My eyes tracing words fast, dark thoughts dying
These chapters smooth away all my tangles

It's nothing but the truth that I spend time
Sailing on other waves, prose, song, or rhyme