The Smell Of Books

I never mentioned this before,

You breathed deeply of the scent so familiar,

A scent of our decaying fiction

That I got attached to like I did to

The smell of books.

Holding you close, I felt the cold ink flow through the aging paper

Like the blood rushing to my cheeks.

Gliding my hand through the

crumbled papers

Like I did down your arm, until I reached you fingers,

Entangling mine around yours,

I felt content.

Nuzzling my nose on your chest

I could smell the weightless scent of petrichor.

Like it does when my tears stain

the paper.

Oh how I wish I could show the world how beautiful you were made

But my mere words are everything I have

And only the color of your eyes paint them to life.

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