A Literal Tryst Poem by David Whalen

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My vice is to choose a book at random
From off the library shelf
A book timeworn, a bit forlorn
That sits alone, all by itself

I like that slight crackle
That comes from it's spine
That warm musty odor reminiscent
Of newly uncorked wine

It can be just a brief conversation
Or perhaps a grand revelation
That momentary…temporary?
Meeting of minds

Yet at times these random authors
Take hold of my mind
Makes me an unwilling and unwitting
Hostage…with a great opening line

So I enter into a random liaison that will end
in but a week or so
With a literal random stranger
Who ends up in my hand in my bed
And shares my night lamp's glow

But this chance encounter as always,
Must come to an end
T'was no more than a passing delight
Twas just a book, chosen at random
…A stranger in the night…
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