The more i read, the more absorbed i become. The words swirl pictures and colours through my minds, sometimes disolving before i see them properly, others more real, more solid.

I realise i'm mouthing the words as i read them, until i can hear myself, softly... "In the burrows of the nightmare, where justice naked is, time watches from the shadows and coughs when you would kiss..."

Glancing up, i catch your eye, and the amusement written on your face makes me feel slightly embarassed: reading poetry aloud in shops is not what i do. Reading poetry at all is not what i do. I have friends, aquaintances may be a better word now, who would say that reading for pleasure at all is not what they or anyone else SHOULD do.

But i wouldn't go that far. I do read... but i've never been so...involved before.

"Don't stop-"

"What?"

"You don't have to stop reading because you've rememberd i'm here. I won't broadcast this scandaliscious piece of gossip, i promise."

"What gossip?"

"I'm not sure... would it be more surprising to them to admit that you have a mind of your own, or to say that i always knew it was there somewhere?"

Sometimes, the sharpness of your words tastes almost exactly like the strawberrys i picked from our garden when i was little: refreshing in how different they tasted to everything else.

"Anything would surprise them. Speaking about me as a friend might just push them over the edge..."

Idly, i scoop a slim, waterstained volume from the floor and begin to leaf through it. I stop halfway through, at random.

"Its ok to read it out loud... most poetry should be read out loud, anyway."

As i resume reading, it occurs to me that at one time, i would've been embarrassed to be seen here with you, in a bookshop of all places, because of how they would've judged you... Now, the thought of admitting to being friends with people like that bothers me, because of how you would see me...

We stay for a while, passing books back and forth between us, until a clock chimes and i realise i'll have to hurry to make it to my appointment on time, and we spill from the shops doorway on a sudden high, arguing over the best we've read so far.

At the fork in the roads, we split.

"I'll see you later"

"Have fun at the salon"

"I know you meant that sarcastically...but i will!" I turn back. "Oh, and Elphie?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for...you know, showing me everything"

XXX

Thanks for reviewing, guys!

Demlurlina: Aw i wish i did write those poems! Unfortunatly, i didn't :( The first was by Edgar Allen Poe, the second was by w.h auden, and the third was by imtiaz dharker. All great poets :)