love hides beneath the pages,
in the corner of the sentences,
right from the edges of the letters,
why did you buy that book?
you're ashamed to love him
to know that you too is in love with him,
that he means the world to you
why did you buy that book?
to share the same literature
to enjoy the pages he marvels
to travel with him even if it is too impossible
why did you really buy that book?
I know some of the answers,
but I'd rather keep them in my poetry
like the love you slid beneath that nook,
oh i'm sorry, i was about to say book.
why did you buy that book?
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