Since a poem is a perfect place
in which to hide a secret
it just so happens to be the case
that nobody's found it yet
A place in which to utter
a covert illicit little truth
as discreet as melted butter
not to be uncouth
but it's later than due time
to admit to one and all
I am guilty of a crime
I will confess without stall
I'm enrapt in a torrid love affair
some juicy details I will share
The smell I cannot resist
which may have led to this tryst
I constantly search and obsess
it is a purely pathetic weakness
that saps me dry
but I will always try
Amassing more and more
until I find what I'm looking for
This infatuated relationship
is a one way street
while there is companionship
we will never actually meet
I dream of cuddling in bed
under covers where a little light
is pointing to where I just read
and could go on all night
Igniting my mind
into a frenzied passion
an addiction of this kind
one should try to ration
Time and devotion
with the notion
that you'll never have enough
room for more stuff
if you keep acquiring books
yet still one obsessively looks
since solutions are often found
on pages that are bound
lasciviously labeled as Fiction
which is just a categorical diction
My endless reading is a search
to find how much one can know
a library perhaps is my church
stretching one's brain to grow
but a book can also be called a spell
some are innocent and some evil
by the cover you cannot tell
the influence is one's own will
caving under printed pressure
but as long as you enjoy the ride
or maybe find a buried treasure
I will no longer try to hide
This minor flaw in my character
Just ask the narrator
Where in my own life story
Tells not for glory
But to assert aloud
that I am proud
to admit I am a bibliophile
and my 'To Read' pile
is at least a mile
it should take me a while
to read them all
so I really shouldn't fall
for another book sale
until I finish my latest epic tale.
Image By Burnett, Alexander. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
