The book was the short way home
You turned the pages and jumped onto the horizon of t
The letters all turned toward you,
The Bs reflected to Ds, the Ms flopped to Ws and the Ps twisted to Qs
I remember when I first saw your black ink over the body, stretching
I heard the tap of your feet on the paper, rustling
I felt the pressure and unbalance on the page as you continued down the lines, surveying

The taste of virginity loomed in the air,
The virginity of a fresh tunnel of energy
It tasted like the shine of a copper penny
I remember the way you rode down the line,
Forming Alice and her strange friend the Mad Hatter
I suggested you call the place Wonderland, but you
You told me that it was too obvious

The book was a long way to where we wanted
You would stop at the bottom of a page and question
You questioned if you did something wrong,
Or if doing it wrong was what mattered
You used to be so blue that you were greener than purple
You would look directly at the sun to see well

The large, then small, then loopy, then blocky letters of insanity yielded across the lines
“How long are these lines?” I asked
“They’re as long as you need them to be,” you told me haughtily
The book was finally an end when you made your last dot
And no longer spoke.
“Goodbye,” I told you with through grit laced on my teeth.