That bookmark

That red ribbon,
Slinks down the inside of books
it splits you from reality and what's got you hooked.

It doesn't always pull you away,
sometimes your fingers like the feel
and your tips like the fabric,

Occupies your hands
Whilst the words occupy your mind.
You're practically inside the book,

It's so exciting until you're finished
Feels like you've been pushed out
curled into a cold mound

Just holding the book in your hand
In some empty grounds.