With a thousand year old stare

I assume I am just like you,

we notice the tiniest of changes.

Someone around me

once handed me my first novel

and read it

like I was pushing my first addiction.

My reading voice

was too new to recognize why

you had me reading

the Claiming of Sleeping Beauty.

Me and my sophisticated choices

you had to of believed

I had a chance to succeed.

Today, I am all around you.

Wanted things

foolishly confessed

now I’m the one handing you

handfuls of words.

Focused attention of mine,

me and yours,

I pray each night

to simply lay in your arms

adrift just above the surface

on some imperfect dock.

My time reader

where there aren’t enough

books in the world

to fill your beautiful mind.

I love watching you read

hour after hour

me picking or suggesting

the things you need to see and feel.

The time traveler

and his wife,

A Snow girl

wished for and brought to life.

There are so many new titles

the Night Circus begs for your eyes

underneath a tent of deception,

and I swear

you’d love the newest

about a family of witches.

The spell has been cast for all us

I want only you

to lay with and whisper to,

starting a book

reading it out loud

making it our tradition again.

The oral fixation

of telling stories

over and over again.

I want to be consumed

with how you pronounce your words

softly stumbling over the syllables,

asking for a meaning.

Hours we could lay consumed

off track and exploring,

together, exploring

for all the

wanted things

hoped and wished for

waiting for us

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