Nose in a Book
I breathed in deeply
warm, light, woody scents, and then
I curled right up on a shelf.
My toes caressed the hard covers;
My lips brushed the soft, cracked spines of paperbacks.
The paper, stained by skin oils, fanned against my breast.
Ink on my tongue.
Pressed against my ears,
the clicking of a keyboard.
Lay against my fingertips,
the edges of pages.
Brush marks in the dusty corners
betrayed my eyelashes
had kissed the oak.
And in the arms of words,
paragraphs of gentleman-like eloquence,
I fell asleep.