I can still feel your hand on my neck,
and my lips touching your cheek,
if I close my eyes.
Surrounded,
other people's thoughts printed on paper and put on shelves.
I am waiting on the shelf for your hands to open me,
stacked next to the others,
open me , OPEN ME,
I desire to be read.
Will she enjoy the plot ,who ends up dead?
Take me home, push me in,
or turn and chose another to curl up with under the covers.
 

Souls of Liberty