library books;
the musty smell floods me with
thoughts of its past readers
did a girl like me
run her finger across this line
as i have?
will our lines like vines
ever intertwine?
rainy nights;
while the tip-tap and dribble of
droplets hit my windowsill,
i imagine gusts of wind
dancing with one another:
carless and free
and without destination
light touches;
the accidental bump of elbows,
the awkward entanglement
of fumbling phalanges,
a gentle squeeze of the hand,
a comforting gesture that says
“i am here.”
now reverie this:
you and i,
the spines of our books broken,
our shoulders barely brushing,
the sound of soft and subtle raindrops
all things i adore in one simple
and seemingly endless moment
books, rain, touches, and you