The Last of the Mohicans

It greets me
like that tentative friend
on the playground:
A book
lightly used
bought off the Internet.
First edition.
Grease stains adding character.
I saved 20% with my discount card.
The couch feels more comfortable
as I crack the old whore's binding.

Someone left a message
with black marker in the cover.
An inscription from its giver.
"A quickie existential crisis."
Some praise.
Some page numbers.
A "Happy birthday"
and the Love

but the part that makes me cringe for "Ed"
comes right before he signed it:
"I want to spend every year
of your life with you."

It seems she sold the book.

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