The Library was a Mirror…

I ran away a while to pluck

three damp white buds for her,

Graze cheek with kiss,

brush hair amiss

and wait for my lover to stir.

On chill stone round the pool we lay,

blood spilled from mind to head and back,

With waist and waist

and breath to taste

I drink of the love of long lack.

…and the Mirror was a Library.

My lover’s carvings on my back

on wake in morn took me aback,

for lines that wrapped around my spine

were dreams of hers and also mine,

dressed in sweet and sticky sweat

from love I’d not in my bed let

run free and bold,

for fear of cold

and arduous separation.