She found her inspiration in the book,
Page after page enlightened
Her eyes and mind
And satisfied the yearn
For knowledge that drove her on
To turn a page, and set her eyes upon
Each word and phrase.
If only he inspired her just as much,
So that she could turn his page
To find the things that once inspired,
But which now leave cold
And worthless in the fold
Of book in which his body seems to be.
If only she could hold him such as this,
And feel his smoothness beneath her hands,
Sense the purity of knowing him
As much as verse or word.
How absurd, she mused,
And left all thought of him
Beyond the page and book
And never gave another thought
Or sought to look
Where once he too had turned a page,
A different time, a different age.