Hey Kinks!

I am in paradise

(With another h/t to Peter's Power Pop blog...)

You don't get this at Amazon.com. Sadly.

I was in a used bookstore the other day. In a part of town that had 10 used bookstores 15 years ago... and now only has one.

It was 95 degrees and I didn't want to go back outside. So I hung around, thumbing through volumes in sections I ordinarily avoid.

And there, in the poetry section, in a thin paperback of free verse, was a single, yellowed sheet of lined notebook paper. Folded over neatly, but thin to the touch -- like it had been unfolded, read, studied, and stored away again many times.

On that paper was this poem (or maybe a letter from someone whose identity was so obvious it wasn't necessary to sign it):

Your touch, light like the sun peeking through clouds
Your kiss tender and sweet.
You sprinkle smiles down on me from above
Making me so happy I forget you make me mad.

I struggle for words.
Sentences.
Paragraphs.
Of nonsense. Ridiculousness.

And then you smile.
Billions of years of evolution
To lead to your smile.
And I almost forget everything.

Remember this when you go away next week.
Remember the times.
Remember me.

Always.

There was no name in the book. No way to track down the former owner and find out what happened, how it ended, why it was finally time to get rid of the poem (or letter).

So I spun the tale in my head. Inventing dozens of reasons, excuses, and scenarios.

Dozens of possibilities. All hauntingly familiar, but none exactly sounding right.

And then I was late. And I had to get going. 95 degrees or not.

I tucked the book back into the shelves. Leaving it to someone else to find, someone else to unravel the mystery.