Among walls of books
and a sea of chairs,
I enter the fortress
where I am the princess.
A number of heads
bow down before me
acknowledging my presence
by the sound of papers shuffling.
The familiar textures
of paperbacks and
hardbounds worn out
by the waves of time
kiss the tips of my
fingers, as I offer them
my hand.
A trumpet of
clearing throats
call my presence
to acknowledge the
entrance of.
Across the pathway
between counters
and chairs, with
finely lit ceilings of
fluorescent lit chandeliers,
our eyes met.
Among a sea of chairs
and walls of books
I enter a fortress
where I found my prince.
I wrote this before I met you. Funny enough, I met you at the library.
