An ode to the smell of an old book
Dancing is the sun setting
My feet are the sun and they know how to sink
Below the horizon and rise
The next morning as if transported
They remember the East
They remember the West
They remember the orange dusk and the light pink dawn
Dancing is the smell of an old book
And the way the pages know me so well they open
To my favorite passage, the scene where the hero
Realizes that he has the strength in himself to save the world
Except he's known all along
Dancing is fresh cookies
Still warm from the oven that I just finished
Cooking because I can't sleep under
The shouting stars so I might as well stay awake
And make something beautiful
Dancing a warm cup of tea
And my hands wrapped around
The warm mug as the morning chill
Whispers around me and the sun
Remembers to come up again.
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