Hidden in the corners of my books.
Whispering creaks and groans from old bones that resound frighteningly into flat silence.
Brazen promises that melt into flesh with every incoherent illustration.
Slipped artfully betwixt a murmur and rustle, they clamor to sing us a song of strange habits with lyrical inventions.
A quaint home-sick melody to soothe our young ears and aging hearts.
