Once upon a time - and twice on Sundays.
The library...
These are my books.
The walls are lined with them, as far as you, or even I, can see. Bound in leather, wine-dark.
No, of course they aren't written in blood. Blood eats the pages.
Silver, on the other hand...
Some of them are tarnished, of course. Silver oxidizes into such a pretty green-black...
The leather? Two new words for you, love - anthropodermic bibliopegy.
Hmm? Oh, it means the binding of books in human skin.
Why not? They are your stories, after all.
Thousands and thousands of stories.
Bound in breathing skin.
Until the story ends.
And then they come to me.
The walls are lined with them, as far as you, or even I, can see. Bound in leather, wine-dark.
No, of course they aren't written in blood. Blood eats the pages.
Silver, on the other hand...
Some of them are tarnished, of course. Silver oxidizes into such a pretty green-black...
The leather? Two new words for you, love - anthropodermic bibliopegy.
Hmm? Oh, it means the binding of books in human skin.
Why not? They are your stories, after all.
Thousands and thousands of stories.
Bound in breathing skin.
Until the story ends.
And then they come to me.
Comment
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Comment by Cypherindigo on May 19, 2008 at 8:21pm -
Lovely.....creepy......lovely
From another librarian, of a more mundane kind.
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