I write because the security of your love allows me to develop my craft without concerning myself with trivialities – as if your love could be any more complete. But I write, in the first place,
because of you, my muse. I write for your green eyes to glance at my humble words and for the pleasure of hearing you utter them.

Welcome to Book-a-holic Anonymous.

Hi, I’m Jazz and I am addicted to the written word. I love the smell of the blackest ink sliding across texture paper. My eyes squint against the loss of time within the pages of story. I don’t think there’s a cure for my compulsion to lose myself within life and times of those characters bound between the covers.

I was mistaken
when I said you
live in my heart.
How absurd I was
when you live in my
fingertips so that everything
I touch is you. How foolish
I was when you live in my toes
so that everywhere I go there’s you.
How senseless of me to say
you live in my heart
when you breathe in my lungs,
walk on my mind, and
drink in my mouth. I came to
pen another poem for you,
but even every unwritten poem
is you.

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