drifting to the comfort of frayed edges, starched taught leather cracked with age,
Sweet smell of musk raised from forgotten
tobacco stained pages.

Running fingertips over ancient press
thickened and parched,
brailled reassurance of support
sitting behind enemy lines.

Familiarity of binding
a pseudo sexual release
relief of finding meaning
locked in type face bold
upper case
hand crafted serif
when knowledge was made with love;
in search of truth,
not a five second google
On a cold November morning.

Put me out of my misery people!

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