Pages
Rifling through the
Pages
The sweet smell of
Paper
And ink, as it makes aware its
Presence.
Oh sweet words that capture me and make a
Participant
In your stories. I cannot begin to
Perceive how letters strung into sentences that are combined into
Paragraphs
Make so many beautiful
Palaces
All confined to the
Prism
Of my mind.
Pleasure
For me can only be found in a good book.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: