Last night
I read a book
that I could have written.
Lyric and melancholy,
musing, yearning, seeking —
philosophical, if you will.
Today’s book,
the pages are full of you,
have you all over them.
A novel of tight, clipped prose.
Simple. Deceptively so.
Something new for me to touch
that feels all too familiar.
Maybe somewhere these books are on a shelf,
touching in ways that we cannot seem to
no matter how much I ache.
–Charla M. DelaCuadra
Pink&GreenMusings 