A woman I’d eyed for sometime
had left a book in the library unattended.
She penciled Kathrine in the margin,
along with her phone number.
But Katherine owned this book
and said to call the number if found.
I uncovered her name where stories have
but days to flip through pages
until the trash was their new home.
A library, where people read books
that conservatives had banned
over their feelings,
held words as the enemy of a free society.
I wrote a book I prayed they’d ban.
But not before Katherine responded
to my request that we meet over coffee
after midnight to chat about her
leaving the book on purpose
to read inside my head,
and now we’re making love
like the stories in her head.
Such a delicious rebel, Kathrine.