Books as old friends

I read you again, silent words and fading pages
turn them, weighing the paper
the memory of our first touch
I close my eyes and lean into that touch
and I am touching you, as I touch the page
a clearest vision and vivid feel of you
still over so much time, between the covers
the scent of old youth all about us
so far around the world from now
and I picture present you, see the so much older me
the days counting us both, borrowed, fewer,
how we lean into them, heads bent against the wind
that first touch, first kiss and so far
so still I read you