Ode to my bookshelf

It was between amber and brown, 

between fire and earth. 

The rich dark chocolate

of dusk had set in 

A wave of dust

had colored the wood 

I took contemplative miniature steps 

–feeling every

wood, seasoned or un-aged,

Knocked

on the planks, 

on open doors 

Finally, I found you. 

From your feet

to the brim, 

heavy and bright, 

my fingers had

brushed against you

You left an oval of dirt ,

on my fingertips.

I knew you were salty,

a fruit that the seas of

my emotion had chosen. 

to stand against the

wall of the house, 

open to me 

like a mouthful of kisses 

I had mourned and perished 

and grew with the books in your bosom.

Naked in your skin

I will dismantle you slowly.

Take down

books of poetry and prose,

books clothed in their glory jackets 

books naked and threadbare.

I wish I could depart with you,

to another life 

but for now I kill you, 

with pain that stabs me

when I stab you.

I will bleed my knuckles over you.

I will leave coffee mug stain on you

  – a circle like a ring, a circle

akin to handcuffs you’d think.

Sometimes a house lizard will run over

leaving padded footsteps 

marked in dust. 

Your death will reduce to

ashes and the wind will powder me

with your gray remains.

I will lose my companion, 

one autumnal summer of amaltas  

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