Offprints and Soft Covers

Crossing city streets, 
the sunlight strikes the windows,
illuminating the haphazard stacks
of second-hand books,
piled floor to ceiling,
in that corner bookshop. 

Though my heart is racing fast, 
and my eyes beg to pursue an
afternoon of perusal, 
you do not make time
for my pursuits,
and I cannot find the words
that save me from this
bookless existence
and grant me access 
to that cavernous
accretion of words and pages.
 
Instead, we walk up the hill
to your apartment, 
where we play silly games,
and I count down the minutes,
until your boredom
matches mine, and 
releases me back to the world
of books.

The store is closed when I 
pass by, 
from the window
I imagine better homes. 

If only I could find 
the words to say, 
this was the last time
I felt empty handed.

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