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.