Under Charlie's Covers
It was musty, quaint, and pleasantly strange, I thought it was Heaven at first, Books littered the old linoleum floor, Narrow paths lined with yellowed pages, Shelves groaning from the weight of sleeping stories, I ran my fingers over their worn and weary bindings, Stretched spines from hours of enjoyment, Leafs of the written word wrapped in leather bound covers, Cramped corners piled high with paperbacks, Stacks upon stacks of steamy romances, cut throat killers, cat burglars, Piles of buried treasure, crafty hobbies, creatures from the unknown, As I sat in that secluded niche by the drafty window, Sunlight pierced the glass and laid upon those memorable stories, Stories, that took me back to my favorite adventures.