Their fingers brush along the spine
They clutch, and their fingers intertwine
An angry shake and they twist away
Glaring at the other, ruining their day.
Their eyes, in unison, lock on the tome
Gaze at it fondly, as at a weary heart’s home
It’s once gilded pages, now almost dust
And yet, to possess it was a must.
It’s dust jacket crumpled, corners worn down
In a condition that could make any l...