If you are an aging book tossed on an empty shelf
Left to dust,
I will be the librarian who remembers you.

Even in my graying days and wrinkles,
I will find you within the musty bindings
Upon the shelves.
I will pluck you off,
Bypassing all of the others
That try and grab me as I walk
The narrow aisles.
I will push them back into their place
For you are the only one I have eyes on.
I will find you and blow the dust
Off your shoulders.
I will run my fingers over you,
Feeling your cover, your back, your spine
Before opening you and sifting through your pages,
Reading your story and discovering your scars
Where the corners have been folded over.

But I will love you long before
I ever open your cover and begin to read.