sometimes I fantasize
that we are in a bookstore,
and we own the joint,
and everything that comes with it.
the quiet convivial atmosphere,
the rows of spines with titles
you have always meant to read,
the enthusiastic whispering conversations
about books only our ears can hear.
we will hand pick everything,
and make love in the stockroom
when the store is closed.
browse this dream
with me.