I go to the bookshelf and take off no clothing and take down a book and strip myself bare

I go to the bookshelf and surrender on my knees, raise arms in supplication and roll my eyes up

I go to the bookshelf and lean bodily against it and rub my face on it, purring its name

I go to the bookshelf and take down a book, press against my heart and it sinks in my skin

I go to the bookshelf and stand poised and waiting and hover my hand over them, choosing my fate

Photo credit: Bookshelf. Photograph by [http://flickr.com/people/stewart/ Stewart Butterfield].

(Thank you to Elizabeth Sims, whose comment on the Newbie Writers podcast made this run through my head.)