Smelling the pages, just like taking in the fragrance of herbs—
Familiar/ nostalgic/ pleasant, and even new
Pages infused with smells of their origins (just like saffron would, of Spain, or Kashmir)
And then the mounting surge of the urge to consume,
(as the eyes and the nose have been won over);
a vile sense of greed lurking, almost, as it is considered vile.
But bliss soon takes over, as the first bite happens.
It lingers, as one devours further. But much before the end,
there floats in another tantalizer, as good (if not better) than the last one;
happily propped up in front (or on the sides, but prominent).
And one can do nothing but go through the process again—
the look, the smell.
For it is not just the bite that is enjoyed, but the journey that leads to it.
And then one takes the bite:
And the love story is stirred.
For both stirring, and simmering, helps
love, not just of a book, but of books.