Ephemera Forever

Lily held the book with one hand, thumb in the binding, and slid the other down her khaki shorts. The chlorophyll depleted leaves had just begun to fly from the canopies in Madison, and the dry autumn smell seemed to have exploded in the air overnight. What had not changed though, was the way Lily moaned inside on white sheets with the window open, all alone.
It wasn't that she fantasized about Mr. Darcy. Fuck, she barely liked that tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice. The thing is, she did this with Bukowski. She did this with Michael Pollan. Words in the past, not meant for her, picked at this deep throbbing sore. Each time it opened it grew warm. And what would it be like to live forever?
"Think only," she panted in long whispers "of the past as it's remembrance. gives. you. PLEASURE!"
The book had fallen now. The words escaped from Lily's mouth by memory as she came. Familiar hands of even steady boyfriends could never do what these words do; This idea running its soft wet tongue along her most sensitive of parts.
Lily raised her head from the white pillow and tossed the book across the room into an already existing pile of covers, binding, and pages. She hadn't left the house in months.