Cotton Books

by Poetry

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

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