Reading: A Poem

I love how you
delight in book-stores,
the flick of your fingers
as you caress pages,
the look in your eye
when you find something you want.

As I watch you move from shelf to shelf,
I think to myself that
our bodies are like books,
already, always,
second-hand,

passed from one reader to another,
(though some are
more gentle than others),
tossed aside or
lovingly re-read
again and again;

and I wonder what
it would be like to have you
spread my legs
and open me up and
read me from start to finish

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