i was trying to read a book
when you came along and insisted
that I read you instead
you were forceful in your persuasions
insinuating yourself between me
and the page, like a skin clad bookmark
*** in my face and the buzz of your voice
creeping through my head
as you ruffled thoughts and paper alike
to the point of distraction
how could i ignore you?
such a perfect edition and so responsive
beneath my fingers. you are better
than a story in braille
through you i can read of summer fields
the smelled taste of daisies and buttercups
knee-high grass and the heat of the sun
on day-warmed skin; the drowsiness
of a warm room and a comfortable lap
there is nothing better than
curling up on a good book.