Some Kind of New York Times

Love and Its Pages

You are like an old newspaper –
comfortable,
familiar,
soft to the touch.

I hold you in my hands,
Running my fingers down your spine – I smell you:
pasty,
subtle,
pleasant to my nose.

Your pages are full of old news –
Our love is filled with memory…

Caressing your pages,
Page after page,
Breathing you in,
Feeling the memory of you in my hands.

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