Book-lag
.
I still taste the ink of your words, the brown colour of your pages. Tu as laissé le sillage d'un monde-météore sur mon front, et mes joues gardent la trace des éclaboussures d'univers , oh book !
Turn the last page of the novel - last ticket to worlds beyond - and look into a space stripped of words.
The sun roughly shakes you awake, and you stare bleary-eyed at the dust-laden air, clutching the tattered remnants of unfinished dreams against your chest. The vertigo, the anger and the longing !
Weep, fret, re-read : it will pass. This is Book-lag.
I still taste the ink of your words, the brown colour of your pages. Tu as laissé le sillage d'un monde-météore sur mon front, et mes joues gardent la trace des éclaboussures d'univers , oh book !
Turn the last page of the novel - last ticket to worlds beyond - and look into a space stripped of words.
The sun roughly shakes you awake, and you stare bleary-eyed at the dust-laden air, clutching the tattered remnants of unfinished dreams against your chest. The vertigo, the anger and the longing !
Weep, fret, re-read : it will pass. This is Book-lag.
posted by transparency @ 9:58 e.h.
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