Sometimes, when gibbously pregnant
the moon descends behind a cloak of clouds
to spend an argent night inside his library.
She tiptoes in her silken slippers, teases him
with flashes of her silver flesh to follow deeper
into his shiny labyrinth of secret scrolls;
and there behind the seventh shelf, they nest
in buoyant bliss as the moon gives gentle
birth in ink to yet another sterling verse.
as morning comes, the librarian hugs their moon-
child poem and unlocks the shrine he keeps
beneath a trap-door, sighs and starts to count
the nights until it’s time for her — the moon to spend
another lyric night behind his seventh shelf again.
Grace hosts OLN tonight at dVerse, and I wanted to tell a little bit more about love in the library.
February 6, 2020