wandering through the stacked books
with delicate frames atop a sloped nose
shoulder length locks of leather brown
your physicians fingers on a book spine
honey eyed glances thrown over to me
sweet lips mumble poetic pages to themself
I hear pages rustle and soft sweaters shift
as you close the book and come over to sit
hands clasped on the table we chatter
and hour will fly by enraptured by you
Just thinking about the life I dream of when asleep...