i could be a book
in a rare books section
quietly breathing in shop dust
waiting patiently for you.
hoping you might pick me up.
i’ve seen you like old fashioned
binding, and gilt edged pages.
i’m much too ordinary perhaps.
i imagine you do find me some day
and sigh a quiet, ‘Hmm’
as you turn the pages
and discover me, I shiver
he now knows my name.
hope dislodges
a sudden dust swirl
that disappears into the light
shining above your head.
it’s enough to distract you
check the time on your phone.
you leave me
on the table with self help books
and silly space romances.
