Msnowe's Blog


Posted in Uncategorized by m.snowe on January 14, 2009

I am intimidated by your bookshelf.

Not the tomes that clutter up the panels,

but their height, the untattered crisp-paper-billness;

the inescapable title language that jumps out to judge

me by, as i lay awake, folded inside your sheets and covers.


As I lean, tip-toe, and strain my blurry eyes to read the top shelf

you say that I was taller than you remembered.

As if it was a disappointment.

How do I reconcile my lust to tower over,

with your heightened prayer, as we both stare

into a pulling eye–

a weird and wary will.


But still to think of your ceiling-floor embankment

and reach out to have that encircle

the arms that press so hard

and mold me still, wanting more.


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