Books,  Writing

Guilty Pleasures: A Poem

There’s no limit to the measures
One will take for their guilty pleasures
I say to myself, and duck behind shelves
The store is empty; I have it all to myself
Thoughtfully, I run my hands over the wares
One eye remains alert, I know I’ll get stares
If anyone sees what I’m about to perform
But the temptation’s too great, goodbye to the norm!
I grab my item of choice, hold it up to my nose
And take quite a whiff; it’s sweet as a rose
What is it, you ask, a perfume, a cologne?
It’s none of those things, you realize, and groan
I grin sheepishly; I’ve been caught! And you look
At the treasure in my hands: a yellowed old book!

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