My love is a book.
My hands trembled and shook
As they turned your page,
And they savor the flavor of your chapters.

I want to read your story
Narrated for me;
Words of honey.
The funny
Thing is that you show and don't ask,
You tell and don't take
But I ache
To share what I think, with no mask.

Your words flow like a brook,
My Pulitzer book.
Your drawings draw me to you
And I love your every nook;
I think I may have mistook
Your metaphors for gold
Your similes are like rain
And your language never plain.
I love the legend that you've told
The adventures that you've seen
Where you've been
In your life
Tales of silk, they unfold.

How could I finish your story?!-
It shouldn't come to an end!
As my thumb sails through the sea,
My heart, it shudders and bends.
I literarily see
Lines that tied you to me
Imagery
Of our love-
God above,
Let us be!

But yet I come to the close
Of your long admired prose
Resolution must set in
Other books have to begin.
You're not complete, my lonely book
I pray the Author writes another.
But till then, please take a look;
Do you see me through the cover?