On the pages, the fingers were a caress.
Nothing more, nothing less.
The first contact was impressive.
After a separation of centuries
they were together.
The book was no longer a slave.
And its memory was a body
without soul.
But after the first contact
the body and the soul were together.
The discovery of her body
by his soul
was the rebirth.
Their fingers made new hands.
Their mouths, one.
He gave to her his breath
and she felt it in every part of her body.
She was free.
She was a page
but with him
she was a part
of the open book
and she was illuminated
with his essence.