Set up a shop the color of banana.
Cram it full of books and a window seat

ripe for reading, tucked into a London alley
so you have to search for it, delighted

when you find it, reveling in the sweetness
of banana, warmth of shopkeepers

who live for books, as you do, who
welcome you, offer tea and a place to sit,

a place you could die happy, surrounded
by volumes and volumes of wordwordswords

worth everything to you in this too-short
life, wishing you could have read them all.