Pages of Your Lips

Despite my library;
My collected works;
My garden of lexical lyrics;
I turn to my favorite book.
It is rare and classic.
Although I have traced its pages many times,
Each passing turn
It is as new and profound as any sacred text.
Sitting there
Vertically
Waiting to be opened;
To be read.
As I caress its binding
And take in its unique aroma
Feeling the edges of the pages,
The anticipation of what it beholds inside.
I nudge towards the middle
Revealing those silky words I long to see
And gaze at them with intoxication
Running my fingertips over the letters
Feeling the texture of the slightly raised ink.
With delicate pronunciation
I silently mouth the words
As I read to myself
The secrets that she allows him to know.