Oil lamps cast shadows
as you wet your fingertips and turn the page.
Clearing your throat, you begin anew.
Enraptured by the words spilling from your lips,
I move closer, inhaling the scent of your skin
as it mingles with the fragrance of dusty pages.
Balancing the book in one hand,
you reach for me.
At the chapter’s close,
our hands are clasped.
Miranda Rey 