Leather Bound

Richard Booth's bookshop
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Richard Booth’s Bookshop in Hay
 

We met on a shelf
between RS and Hughes,
I liked your shoes but later
found they were boots,
their butterscotch
tan leather cuffs
discreetly concealed
beneath wintered denim.
 

Smooth, easily removed,
they sat obediently
in right angled hush
at the foot of our borrowed bed,
their suppleness echoed
in the soft scuff of your hands
as you deciphered the Braille
of my unravelling spine.
 
 

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Filed under Free Verse, Poetry

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