stargazing

stargazing Bethany Conover

Poetry 64

The bookshelf scan led to nothing new, he’d never been persuaded to house Austen or remember Rosetti. Sitting on the goblin green couch reminded her that his sense was askew, but she thought she loved him for his complexity. He liked watching blinking lights and quadrilateral shapes, whereas words dancing through her strayed to tell a tale of Frost’s home burial as an escape. She was the lady of Shallot, before her feet the mirror laid, but those stories slipped through the fingers of her thoughts as his gaze turned to her bereft face. “Having fun?” “Of course.” Nodding he turned back to his controls, she crossed her legs in comfort, taking another sweep of the bookshelf.