i treasure my old books,
especially the one on my bedside.
It holds a memorable romance
that i look forward to reading  at night

sometimes i study each word looking for a deeper meaning
i slip on my glasses trying to get cosy in a silk blanket seaming at whats left .
sometimes i read into each syllable searching for more depth
i come across a few pages through which blood and tears crept

sometimes i find myself thinking about the end
i toss and turn in my bed deciding on turning to the last page
condemned
sometimes my mind wanders off to a new story about a kiss between best friends
i beat myself up- hoping my book took no offence

sometimes my book doesn't like the attention
sometimes i wish i could crack open another spine
sometimes i crave a new book
a book that shows me constellations with a naked eye
an eye that's the key to the lock
the lock that's attached to the rib-cage he allowed me to crack
a crack that led me to to his heart.
a heart that finally had my name
as the title.