Handwritten

.

The scent of old parchments,
A deep inhale she breathes in
Their aurelian intangible magic,

And antique book stores,
While heavy drizzle drills away
On translucent glass,

Ladders and shelves,
Dusty corners dampening from mist.

Sitting cross-legged, one in a lap,
Beneath bamboo floored wood creaks.

Auburn robust jacket,
Their edges quivering at seams
As fingertips trace, search

For his lost lovers' names.

Scribbles in ebony hues
"To my dearest friend,
A book to keep my memory,
5th November, 1971"

Hazel eyes skim and travel,
Ponder a second, the places, decades,
This veteran will transcend them to.

Coffee cup tiredly sighs vapours,
As the drizzle now sluggishly pulls
The olive flailing drapes into a lull.

Gilded pages luring, storming after another,
And blurry eyes like foggy windows,
They drink from this august grail.

The murmuring drizzle, muffled,
The vapid engines cursing poison,
The dark lilac wallpapers fragment,
The potent aroma of cocoa dwindles.

And she retires for a journey.
On this captivating ship that sails
Tantalizing her loosened threads,

Over ripples of time and space,
And away, onto and above.