Cotton Books
he came to her bed
on some forgotten day
to read he swore & came
brandishing old books
lovers
in the sunlight dust
smiling she welcomed
him to her bed
body-bed-body torturous
he read for hours
until the night feeling & bedsheets
undisturbed
more than a form
& the long-dead
in her tears he swore devotions
he is devoted to her
but
the books still open their
legs in the night eyelashes
flutter through smoky memory
& no dust bedroom
& he finds it impossible
to spell the shape of her body
sounding out
curves & flesh
now ink moves
an endless butchery
as dreams torment
unlovely flesh
& cold to the touch