The Book that I live in

I have walked for miles inside the memoirs of my book
Scripted novel notions with the paints of plastered pleasures
My body has been scarred by the Bohemian blasphemy
Of her teasing thoughts. Yes, she is the book that I live in

I have no soul left within me since I have devoted myself to her
And as I trace the tranquil quilts of the condescending chaos
Which evades my life daily under the pleasant pains of loneliness
Waiting for her to look back and look for me in the Sea of Souls

Time, yes Time immemorial has been a wait, an undulating wait
For her to glance back, to glimpse inside me, beyond the cloak
Read me, as I read her, words after after, moments after moments
And endure the feelings that I imbibe whenever I see her.

In the dusking dawns of every daunting day I dive into her extant
Wishing all the while that Time would pause leaving Us alone.
I would slowly approach her with a beating heart and confess
Of my boundless love and with bent knees ask for her consent.

But as the Book I breathe within doesn't even know that I exist
I have often been left alone in my memories of culminating castles
Where I wish to enchant my empress in the bubbles of my dreams
And make her the prisoner of the same Book that I live within.