Found such joys, unimaginable, pristine
Each time I have, it was another story
Some of love, some of lust, some of debauchery
Yet all astonishing, stilling my soul
And now the book is closed
Leaving behind the dust marking it's kept
Only for me to wish another read
I wonder if you are read, and by who
And if they read it with the gentleness
Do they worry of not creasing your pages
Do they worry of wear, let alone tear
These are my unknowns, these are frightful
It is not for me to dictate, or direct
The book I have so cherished, loved, longed
Is lost to time, leaving only memories
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