We warmed to each other
grading freshman
writing exams
in annual three-day grinds,
me admiring
her conservative dress
and reserved smile,
but also the migraines

uprooted from antiquity,
it dwells in possibility
dreaming of a vanity
it will not know –

its crowdedness unmeshing
requires scythes for threshing
to keep it from enmeshing
Corsican sheep.

She is on the pill. My sperm have built
a monastery inside of her.
They illuminate manuscripts all day.

The new coffee maker uses bean pods.
Complicated machinery to jolt
my eyes with butterscotch sunrise flavor,
preparing me for a day at the house
of opera, watching them belt arias.
I use tiny binoculars until I
head back to the motel, take off my jewels,
wipe down the bathtub with disinfectant,

Desire between my legs –
A cello
Or is it?

A stick in my hand –
A bow
Or is it?