The Librarian

An auburn glow of freckled comeliness not young not old a little thick set like a mature cat When we pass a book between us our fingertips withdraw scalded by small print The room is crowded but it is far away like a story in a closed volume We are alone beyond the codex of morality We both know that I want to lay her down on this tiled civic floor to imprint a passion upon a mute press There is an understanding a regard that fast birds and slow elephants have for mutual journeys I envision her creamy thighs lofted high her sensible skirt pulled over her head as we grunt sotto voce between aisles K to Q