Just an Old Dusty Bookstore, and in the Attic a Magic Clawfoot Tub

Hey darlin, meet me at the bookstore, after hours when it's all tucked in for the night and the books are dreaming a little louder, we can climb into a few good old stories and head up to the attic for an adventure

I found some interesting things in the attic, older books written in ancient ink, the dust old when the oldest trees were still green

I lean in and kiss your cheek gently, whispering in your ear, "This poem is filled with moonlight and magic, and a little dash of an adventure, there's no one I'd rather share any of it with than you"

And sitting in the center of that old attic, a big clawfoot tub not tied down by any plumbing, let's climb in, cuddle up, read one of those old books and see what adventures those pages might contain

The old book store with all its quirky books is quietly locked up for the night and I have the key, there are adventures wrapped in old book spines, all sitting just upstairs, let's see where the pages might take us

Let's lean back, grab a book and see where it might take us when we open it up, a little magic to dance with the ivory rich song of moonlight, and the soft sound of you laughing happily as I whisper in your ear, a little love between the pages

And that old clawfoot tub is no ordinary tub, as we cuddle up close sitting inside, reading those old books, chatting quietly, we hear its metal creaking as the clawfeet come to life, carrying us to the big window that magic and imagination open

And up, up, up we go, flying on unseen wings in a tub no longer tied down by plumbing, soaring into a midnight sky to fields of wildflowers planted in clouds and the flick flickering of fireflies dancing with the flick flickering of a thousand and one hundred million trillion stars

There's a special kind of magic in some books, like tattooed stories covering the soul, each one whispering and weaving into the tapestry of who we are and what we have brought to their pages

I love the curious things tucked away in old attics, covered by worn sheets and ivory rich shades of moonlight, the hint of magic whispering in the stirring of dust as we creak across its boards seeing what sights we might see

The best adventure is any adventure written with the ink of love on the canvas of little moments and the flipping of pages with the soft scent of wildflowers on a midnight sky and the flick flickering of fireflies dancing across their field

Let's see where all this old tub with its unseen wings and clawfeet come to life might take us, to the highest mountains, or to patches of wildflowers on the moon, to a sea of night sky dancing with an endless roll of ripples across its eternal surface, each star a whisper

Let's explore the curious things in that old attic darlin, the things kissed by moonlight and left for us to find, creaking floorboards whispering in old dust, beckoning us to take a closer look, to sit in that old tub and read ourselves into an adventure

I caress your face and smile, leaning in to kiss you gently, whispering, "This poem is written with moonlight and magic, and a dash of adventure tucked inside, and darlin, there isn't anyone I'd rather share it with than you"

Lean on back darlin, let's flip through the pages of that old book, flying in that old clawfoot tub, a little moment for us to step outside of the normal rhythms of life, hugging each other up and leaning into a little adventure

How about we meet up at the bookstore after it closes for the day, I've got the key and the moon is kissing those old books upstairs, let's climb into the old clawfoot and see where it takes us