Lounging on my bed,
You read to me from that
Battered book, your voice
Gravelly and gravely picking
Apart the sentences into words,
Then words into sounds, weighing
Them down, burying them in the moment.
I scratch your chin, cactus like,
And your face rumples with your smile.
My heart threatens treason so I busy my mouth.
Distracted, your voice hangs in the air,
Squirming under this duress.
Then it’s over.
You pull me to your throbbing chest
Picking up that old, battered book,
And I listen intently, but don’t hear a word.