Books as old as time, casing as brown as my eyes
the taste of bliss and amour
a deep thud once placed on the library table
the smell of grass and that faint vanilla scent
wise and rare, beat-up and old looking
as I awoke and flung into a kingdom full of quotes.
the habit that's like a disease, for which there is no cure,
as I frown, I smile, I cry, deep within me is what I feel. a burst of emotions a vintage book could bring.