The hide of the book cover

 That tiger cheek
The face of things leather like
huddling over pages
judging a book

By it´s discovery
of what´s under your skin
whats at the root of you
where the truth resides
In what form it looms and pranks

The tiger cheeked man face worn
The book half written well told
Still quite empty between the leather
desire and habit dispute the very purpose
The man between lines handcuffed by both

The book´s thick cover
pressed with howling and laughter
squeezed together with screams and bellows
bound with shouting and confusion
The stripes of that tiger
 peeled off and weathered
slapped onto your little story
extended with ticklish details
hitting your hunger pangs and humongous boredom