Hyacinths bloom around These leather-bound pages. New books, old floorboards, Alternative trees. The heady, balmy scent of You is here in this bookshop: Clean-cut dew on magnolia, Spices and amber sap… I recognise it on the threshold. Two floors turned into a Labyrinth of literature and You are everywhere I turn. Shelf upon towering shelf of Permanent words, and You can recite my favourites. Printed pages kiss curious hands As pages flicker, turning quicker, And whisper you into the room.