First Edition

the aroma
of words
smoke-filled
musty,
leather clad
sensuality
beloved
remnants
of licked
stained
fingertips
found only
between
the willing
bindings
of an old
poetry book

Bedside Table

Stevenson, Kipling, Baudelaire
rest upon the nightstand where
they relate their worlds to me
from long dead eyes, through words still see.

And their flesh in leather bound
though silent save each leaf’s sound
is warm as life and breathes new born
from yellowed pages, cracked and worn.

X Libris (reprint)

allow my fingers
to run
along your spine
and open you
for the first time
and kiss
your preface
gentle with my
eager glances,
and let me
slowly soak up
every word
and phrase,
all passages
discovered
in each chapter
newly encountered,
then forbid
my hands
to lay you
down again
until
your denouement
is revealed
on the final page.

My Heart As A Rose

between the pages
held safe for eternity
my heart as a rose

each petal blood red
unblackened by time’s assault
my desire preserved

Incunabulum

you purport the truth
though your very creation
was but a mirror image
of that the hands had wrought
right to left
with the weight of the world
from plate to page
to give life to your thoughts

5-7-5 (take two-hundred-and-fifty-four : the wet fingertip)

between the covers
you allow my fingers range
until your last page