I have tasted it, second hand;

felt it rest, brushing my forehead -

outside the reach of my fingers.

 

A curtain moves; some warm whisper -

an eyelash,

paper -  the moving air -

and turns and sighs, a full smile of sleep in me.

 

Falling on the floor, a bursting heart

dreams; a font, a solid way of saying,

“this is the life that I would want.”

 

Too, gorging on written words

to find you,

put you in my life, make it significant,

I share my book with you,

and You wander somewhere, and always will,

unknown  to -

 

Oh! What characters you have been!