familiar pages and dog-eared corners

you, my love, are familiar weathered pages,

and ardently dog-eared corners,

and winding bookstore paths

stacked nearly to the ceiling

with secondhand books—

all of them well-loved,

margins spilling over with never-ending scribbled musings.

every time i turn a corner—

another shelf,

another section,

another genre to uncover.

and i will spend an eternity

traversing your humble bookstore halls—

eyes wide, heart pounding to the rhythm

of the words i’ll never tire of reading—

and you will spend an eternity

pulling me in,

and i will fold into your

chest — forever smelling of heady anticipation

and dried ink

and coffee-stained paper—

and love—

and comfort—

and home.