If you ever see your favourite rack
You will know, it has got smuts left by my invasion;
There, in its every shelf
I have hidden my prominence like titles of expansive books
Some gifts and some bought, but
All hollow except the rim of covers, and
Those bookmarks of yours through every page
Of words and numerous blots
They are like my lies for a lifetime of moonlit dreams
They are like my pretense that the day was actually an invitation!
***(11/27/2009)****
Saturday, November 28, 2009
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