I open my chest like a book

Spine bending to allow this move

Both arms in use

I’m the shape of a hook

As though a hollow recess nooks

In the shelter of my wings 

But instead: colours and depth expose

Crumbs of my world escape

They’d talk for us if they could

You’re far away

Stiff, a figure from wood

Unable to reach out 

From where you’re stood 

Or even from nearby 

You crane your head 

Attempt an obliged look 

You don’t touch

For fear you’ll be told you took 

So, no pages are turned 

And the crumbs can’t speak  

Regrettably, I close the book