The Librarian
The Librarian
She polished her soft curved buttocks on my suede overcoat
And the smell of her ginseng breath made me stop
And raise my head
Losing my place in the card catalogue.
I shifted my eyes to her reaching arm concealed in an ox-hair sweater
She lifted an encyclopedia from an abandoned desk
And pressed it in folded arms to her whip-cream breast
I followed her to her reference table
And studied her as she sat unaware of melting eyes
I met her in a bar one night two weeks later
The yellow down now curled around her face and neck
She sat next to me
I talked about books I’d never read
Whispering Sex, The Dictionary of Love, and Lucia’s Feast
I thought of strapless bras and cool wet lips and smooth knees
I leaned on her, almost
As if I were some dusty bookshelf
I touched her tightened backbone
A smile snuck past her ox-hair sweater
She made my beer blended head feel like it was surrounded
White skin that was soft
And if I touched it with my tongue
Stroh’s would turn to sweetened warm milk
I handed her my library card
Watching as she folded it close to her waist
My purple eyes now undressing her
She turned and pressed her thigh to mine
A quite whisper
“Have you ever read Lucia’s Feast?”
I finished my beer and she returned the card
Her thin, bare shoulders nudge mine fluidly
We left the table,
the leftover books unchecked.
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