A book unknown, yet to read yourself;
words writ not by pencil but pen.
Pages untouched bear no bend
and stow soot and space on the shelf.
The dim and dust veiled your label,
left by men of miserable taste.
I drew you from your holding case,
placed you on a nearby table,
and read every tale and fable.
My heart halted with each comma,
and we wedded with each hyphen,
as I touched each untyped trauma
of whispered verses reviving.
Leave me to stand your sheets as I
inscribe love across your wrists,
faith and troth upon your spine,
and tell you you deserve to exist.
Soon the scars no longer seen
will fade with your faux gold lining.
Free yourself from your bindings,
flee with me from this library,
and let us build our own study.