From a Book: A Poem
One Day, Your flattened fingertips Rubbed smooth by too many swipes Over too many screens Are going to miss me Yearning for the mottled texture of my insides I may cut you at first - An injury of unfamiliarity But that nick will heal as i absorb your blood It shall be a token to worlds far away from here I am waiting to bear you by all sorts of magical transports That only an author can conjure Come to me hungry And let me feed you Nibble, gnaw and chew to your heart's content I am your escape I have keys to every shackle and hobble ever constructed Let me enter your veins and course through Make you addicted and detached From the Armageddon that is outside your windows Drink my Sufi wine, intoxicated by the most Divine Let my spine bear your weight as you recline For now... I live in a museum What you used to call a "library" Where I am still and dusty but wide awake and alive Waiting for your fingers to honor and humor me In exchange...