she dreams of books,

imagines the stories are scented with

time’s perfume;

she dreams of books,

imagines the pages feel

like a lover’s satin sigh;

she dreams of books,

imagines their covers are

mystic treasure;

she dreams of books,

imagines their characters pour

forth truth in ancient whispers;

she dreams of books,

imagines their ideas taste

like honeyed freedom…

but she cannot read

and freedom’s hope is lost in an

incoherent hive of truth.