There you lie,
in the silken folds of the bed.
Staring at me,
while I try to avoid your gaze.
I move around the room,
in the humdrums of the four walls.
As I furtively glance towards the bed,
I see the gaze again.
How am I to resist this glim of pure love?
As I finally give up
and move towards the bed,
time plays the devil
engages me in the oh so monotonous moils.
I keep throwing glances at you,
as you playfully invite me,
to join you in the silken folds
and lose myself in a trance.
And when finally I am freed
from the wicked hands of time,
I walk towards you
take you in my arms,
hold you in my hands.
You smell like history,
you feel like my future plans.
The world has your replacement,
but who would want
to ditch the faded familiar fringes
of one’s favourite novel,
one’s adored book
and risk picking up a new bestseller?
And that, oh classical literature,
is how you are my constant!