Covered

On the bookshelf lies
A tightly bound book
With leather trim,
Prim and proper,
No pages bent out of shape,
Though old and faded—
Your gaze she both attracts and repels.
Barely used but aged,
She sits, waiting to be opened
One last time.

She tells a story of adventure,
Of risk, that stimulates the mind,
Body and soul,
A passionate tale,
Filled with both humor and pain,
Of purity, of desire,
Of loss and gain,
Echoing laughter,
Stained with tears.
Candor prefaces the pages
Dedicated to eternal beauty
Waiting to be unveiled.
Each metaphor challenges
The potential reader,
But should he uncover the meaning
In the literary ocean,
Our hero will reach the truth
Hidden in its depths.

However, none of this you know,
Because, before removing the book
Completely from the shelf,
You replace her,
And your fingers continue
To a softer neighbor—
One that has more oft been used.

She sneezes in the shifting dust and thinks:
If only you knew,
You would never have put me back down.