To All the Books I Haven’t Read

A soliloquy for the girl who harbors dreams
of devouring manuscripts that always gleam
like fishy scales, and spaces far between
pen and page are riddled with schemes
of plot and prose, pearly glass, nacrene
shells of longing, where heroines teem
and all the world’s a mermaid’s scream.

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2 thoughts on “To All the Books I Haven’t Read

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