The Library

The stacks of the library
Breathing in musty air, heavy words.
The fluorescent lights, comforting
The still of the basement, enveloping
And I think about you again.
Turning every so often,
Hoping your face will peer out
From the stretching shelves.
Quick! In the corner of my eye
I swore I saw your shape walk past --
But when I trace my hand along the spines
And inch closer to the last line
It was only my wandering thinks
I saw. They always get me, every time.





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Marley11 said...
Dec. 23, 2010 at 1:37 pm
I could totally relate to your poem, which made me laugh.
 
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