Have letters but is not a book Have picture but is not a wall Is round but is not a wheel

At a story’s end, I patiently dwell, But inside your body, I might raise hell. Read me or cut me, either one clicks; I'm found in your books and biology’s mix.

I'm a dark, sticky fluid, and a voice you command. I'm thrown in a game, or raised by a hand. I demand careful delivery but have no mail, A low, deep example that helps you prevail.

I am known for outlasting kings in sealed stone rooms, but I do not sour though seasons gnaw at tombs. You might Name a loved one after me.

I tend to be paired, but can work as one. Even alone, I'd block out the sun. So unremarkable that you could yawn. I'm beautiful still, and frequently drawn. I'm bound to my home, but shiver and flow. My greatest connection is to the wind, oh!