Ink Stains

I have hundreds of them,
Have read thousands of them,
And am still hungry for more.

The ink stains the page,
It does not take me days,
To devour.

Well worn covers,
And slightly soft pages,
And fingerprints
Dotted throughout.

With a few stains,
Not of ink origin,
Memories of food long gone.

Reading more than
One at a time,
Forgetting which
Words belong to which.