She is a library,
I say this because it is hard
to compare her to anything else,
Inside her walls lies story after story,
Knowledge that is wise far beyond her years,
She is a beauty,
one that will belong to no one but her own,
Sometimes she will lend me parts of herself,
Books I will treat as such,
which if anything is not my own,
I will hold her spine dear,
Careful not to damage the pages
Drink her words, let them sit in the pit of stomach,
She will call back for the borrowed parts
These temporary treasures,
I will carry close to my chest
And cherish every word