I am not a disposable library,
Of information for you to borrow,
But never return.

Mystery man at the library
I see how your eyes smiled at me
Wondering what your story might be and
How did you end up working in a library?
My nose in a book as you pass by me
You arise my curiosity
That awakens my sensuosity

I love the way that
Library bookshelves quiet
The sound of the world

So that I can search
For my mind's satisfaction
Without the chaos

So that just maybe
My mind can quiet down, too
From its raging roar

A sad man sits in front of me in the library
He seems generic;
A used sketchbook, modern glasses, and a Banksy sticker on his MacBook.

His arms are filled with marks
black ink solemnly attempts to cover up what is underneath
But they are beautiful
An abstraction of two people kissing, entwined like the style of the art
Further up is his star sign;
Aries

Honest, courageous, passionate
Impatient, impulsive, intrusive
I don’t know if this is him;
All I know is his art, encompassing his every stroke
and carve

His left arm has a different mark
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
What happened to you?

I shall fill the hole you left in my heart with books.
That way it can know what a happily ever after can be.

Tell me, are you a library, full of stories?
Are you a collection of fiction and fact that no arms could contain or no minds that could grasp?
I look into your eyes and I get a glimpse of the catalogs and genres which you keep within you.
You must have had your fair share of history; that is one textbook I want to study and memorize by heart.
Do you think I can be the one to take care of you?
I want to keep you a classic and as a monument in this era of advancing technology.
I will clear the dusty parts of your heart and wipe the slippery surface of your crying face.
I will caress every page you own and help restore the words you've been trying to preserve.
I may not be the one who found you first but I will be the one to stay by your side, until the day either of us crumbles.
So let me check your books out and let me return to you so very often.
Let me call you my favorite place and my second home.

Look -- O’ look
The books we could be;
Seas of lumber
Slumber in dusty sleeves.
Thieves of the night
Write on our eyes;
Lies in the form of words,
Worlds in forms of home.
Some call it fiction,
Imagination calls it sanity
Gravity of our own two feet
Meet to stay alive.
“Strive” it tells me.
“Be all that you can and more.
Doors lead to windows,
Intros to the Galaxy.
Actually living more lives than one.
Undo the restrictions-
Dictions people have over you.
Few are even close
Most will never get there.
Here there is only you
Through the woods behind the books