There my heart sits unused on the shelf.
Unable to care for even itself.
Surrounded by people, or perhaps paper dolls.
In a world full of ignorance, where morality falls.
With everyone around me as open as a book.
But their titles and stories mislabeled, mistook.
For most of my days I find no surprise.
To me I know all of their secrets and lies.
With every new person that enters my life.
I greet the same doldrums with unyielding strife.
And still my heart sits alone and all musty
It tries and it tries, but its just to damn rusty.
But one day at work as I sit and I toil.
I see a new vision that makes my thoughts roil.
This new book is different, its story unread.
My insatiable interest demands to be fed.
I read from a distance taking all details in.
Never missing one line, despite all the din.
This new story's deep and dare I say lusty.
After all the heroine is rather quite busty.
As the story goes on and begins to unfold.
A strange feeling returns, so powerful, so bold.
That part of me sitting there cold on that shelf.
My heart, so long broken, I thought to myself.
And that heart starts to throb, it's frantic and gusty.
You see my love was not broken, just wonderfully Dusty.
©talkwtoph
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