Library Lover

My love,

Is like the coolest breeze and the heaviest drought,

Intensity of extremes all year round,

Passion I found,

In the beauty of Ithaca at prestige Cornell

Eight p.m., first struck of the clock tower bell.

.

In the wake of a restless Friday morning,

I recognize the gait of your walk, assured striding.

And I’m trying,

Trying to remember why I’m sitting below

The fern plant, reading a periodical.

.

I heard a call beneath my layered persona,

Gentler than flowers here blooming nonstop,

Thousands never enough,

My call for something stronger than my clench

On things I can't control, but learn to love again.

.

When the big clock chimes I know it's time,

We wait where hungry students form a line,

Feeling better than fine.

Whispering humour and flashing grins,

In a quiet, mellow setting.

.

It’s uneasy for them to see him inching closer,

Dubbed the uncommon library lover,

My study partner,

In one tap of the shoulder from behind,

Filling anxiety with something of life,

So the years with my head in the books,

Is worth your legs wrapped where my feet stood,

A different kind of love.

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