An Afternoon Off

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Floorboards creaked and heels clicked,

A slim finger runs over cracked spines.

Old paper and worn leather beckon

With promises of escapism within.

 

Scent of ink fills lungs, tempts to come

Closer, mix of amber and beeswax

Envelops further, hungry eyes dart

Around hunting for treasure.

 

Rows upon rows of books, lined up

Unique in size and faded colour.

Dust celebrates by waltzing in

The soft sunlight at each release.

 

Tarnished golden lettering glinting

In late afternoon lustre, by flickering

Firelight burning bright, sank into a

Chair, curled up like a satisfied cat.

 

Silence only broken by the ticking of

Time, the slow turning of stiff, brittle

Yellowed paper edged in brown,

And the occasional sigh.

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Elaine Mullarkey

About the Author: Elaine Mullarkey

She/Her Wordsmith and bibliophile that does a spot of writing every now and again.

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