Only lovers can accept the pink cover
And gold, curvy lettering
And accept them as non-hyperbolic,
As a necessity,
As the color and script of the island
Where the wind gallops like a horse
And where not even night can separate them.
Singletons will like the slender shape,
The back pocket worthiness
Of the hand sized rectangles
Of downed trees.
They will compliment the translation,
They will scoff at the color of sunset
And discard this volume for one that is more
Economical with its words-
Perhaps Emily Dickenson.
Lovers will tear out a favored page and
Smudge it with many transports
From pocket to folder to another pair of hands and
Celebrate it's return with a freshly fondled read,
Feeling the paper with eyes and fingertips.
Singletons will quote.
Lovers have no need.
(Ta-da! I shall now take a bow. Thank you, thank you. Thank you very much)