Between the Covers of My Books
Between the covers of my books
Tattered worlds await.
People smeared on pages
Desiccated.
My gaze revives their intercourse
In every way.
Itinerant, I wonder
voluminously
A hefty fly on crumbling walls
Of ink and lachrymosity.
Tomes of my pains and memories
bound in my hide.
A palimpsest on the
brittle parchment
That is me.
My private archaeology.
Then sepia dust.