Peaceful Reveries

Smell of used books,

my fingers surf aging,

wrinkled spines,

1899,

1985,

such peaceful reveries,

take nothing to remind,

of half-priced royalty,

other places,

other times,

constantly transported to futures and to pasts,

the only type of freedom that lasts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s