That is what I would do for you--
anything.
Write my name....here.
Put it on pastels, the little squares I keep just for these occasions.
My heart, and the ornate clock on the face of the observation level
are in harmony--
tick...oh.....tick....ohhh.
Anything.
That is what stirs me when I look at you
and your sweater rides up in a fold at your hip, soft as a cat.
How could I deny you
if you stand there and tease me, so deliberately, like that?
Here is the key.
The one I keep next to my heart, warm from the skin of my breast,
where the two freckles stay, inseparable, like us.
Here is the key.
The one for opening the carefully restricted,
faculty-only
strictly-by-appointment reading room with the soft lamps and the throws.
Anything.
Possessed by me, made accessible to you,
with fragrance of rosemary, pansies,
fennel, columbine, rue, daisies, and violets.
Find me, look for me
at the desk beneath the clock at two,
across from the locked doors,
I'll be waiting--wearing colors, not white, and my little slippers.
I have catalogued our love, collected our sweetest words.
Find me, curl your arms around my head, whisper to me and don't stop,
don't leave, just kiss my hair, trace the edge of my ear, and love me back
like Anything.
______
for my own Fireblossom Friday challenge "Looking Beyond The Obvious."
Very hot for the early afternoon! Lol! Your poem only deepened my loneliness because it sounded so wonderful, but don't mind me I've been single too long. Hugs!
ReplyDeleteThe perfume in your hair and behind your ear is toxic. Rue is a cat repellant. (And cats are partially colorblind; so your outfit is not for her.) You're paying her back for loving "anything." When you offer "the key," you're answering the question, "How can I deny you? Well here's how ..."
ReplyDeleteNot wearing white is meant to make clear that you're not surrendering.
DeleteFennel is also used to make absinthe.
DeleteFaculty member in love with a Student? Not sure I am catching the hidden part. At any rate it is a very fine poem.
ReplyDeleteShe's a book of poetry ... the speaker. "Write my name," the book title, on the squares at the front desk.
ReplyDeleteThe book has a heartbeat.
You know I could do this forever, come up with different interpretations. :)
Love is just another volume in the library, and what does any one thing really mean if it's truly anything that will do? The key that swings, the two freckles that could mean something but are still random freckles, the heart inside the breast that is a clock and not a clock--all make for a very surreal painting of longing and desire for something that is as real as emotion but separated from life by a lock no key will turn. Or so I read. A very evocative poem that keeps its own mystery, Shay.
ReplyDeleteAh, there's a nice bit of lusty goodness in here. But at times, it verges on madness. There's love for you.
ReplyDeleteThe more times I read it, the more I hear a child's voice talking to her mother, regardless of your intention. It's the slippers and the craving for arms around her head, which would make her short standing against an adult. I like the aborted child version very much.
ReplyDeleteShay--This is languid and seductive and the use of "anything" (especially the one at the end) makes it so sweet.
ReplyDeleteYour hint has me thinking of Yorick, but the hair says "Hold me now, while I'm still alive."
ReplyDeleteYou realize I'm not going to sleep, with how mad you're driving me over this. ;) You're damn near turning me into Ophelia! ... That ellipsis before "here" makes me think of a headstone, by the way. Write my name where life sits ... or dances or reads or makes love.
a library..a librarian..am going for reading room and catalogue as clues!!
ReplyDeleteA well told tale. The sequences ease one into the other
ReplyDeleteLuv the stage which emphasizees the boldness of the preceding statements in these lines
"I'll be waiting--wearing colors, not white, and my little slippers."
Much love...
I think we are listening to the keeper of the books but the mystery is to whom she/he speaks. The books themselves. The library? memory? Fascinating write.
ReplyDeleteThis is just the most adoring poem. Love among the bookshelves.. who could decline the invitation?
ReplyDeleteLibrary sex am the hottest.
ReplyDeleteThe challenge bids us read deeper, which we're supposed to do anyway but online, well, hi bye ... Here the lover who would do Anything seduces in the hopes of gaining that much back, payment in kind. Aren't we that lavish with our poems, the reading of them? A great challenge, thanks for reminding us to sharpen our combs.
ReplyDeleteShe's in a psych ward.
ReplyDeleteWell, I'm sorry about your comment above--still there is a great sweetness here--and a kind of unconditional love, which is well, lovely. Thanks. k.
ReplyDeleteahhh. the observation level...
ReplyDeletethe locked doors, colors, not white, and slippers...
subtle and yet once you reveal, of course (and here I am thinking I'm all Sherlock, but more like the inspector who never saw anything until explained to) ~
Perfect. The hints are so subtle that they sneak up on you.
ReplyDelete