If I were a library book, where do you suppose I'd be?
On the shelf between fiction and criminology?
Or on the table next to the coffee ring you left.
My pages warm from where your finger tips gave them breath.
If I were a library book, would you read me from cover to cover?
Could you convince me body, mind and soul you'd be my only lover?
Turning my pages with a lingering gesture of desire.
Knowing damn well those words you read set your heart on fire.
If I were a library book, would you let your imagination loose while reading?
If each sentence does its job then I know I'm succeeding.
Your knees will buckle at the sight of my lyrical seduction.
Even your rational thinking would have difficulty to function.
If I were a library book, I know you'd steal me for your own.
Making sure that to any other, I can't be loaned.
Take me home and give me a flexible spine.
You'd read me so often, your thoughts would be mine.
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I was going through the stories I wrote way before Vocal and found a series I’d penned on the American movie industry. I covered the economics of making and distributing movies, the ways the movie industry responds to modern challenges such as MeToo movement and the streaming technologies, and other topics, including some movie reviews.
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