This Is How I Love You
By Joanne Oh
When books grow old
they turn to wood
and grow mushrooms
along the spines.
Pigeons invade
the barren, leafless trees.
But I saved you.
On the day you bloomed,
I ran my fingers
up your neck,
snapped your bud,
and put it in my pocket.
The smell of vanilla still lingers
in my jeans.