I'm a reader
of your teeth that glisten
into a smile
which makes me
want to wrap myself completely
around you
tightly holding your head
keeping all that is bad--out
keeping your chin pressed into my sternum.
And the smell of your hair is
the music of great literature
encompassing all of your being.
A book within my tight binding

you are:
Jackson's Lottery
Lardner's Haircut
Kafka's Hunger Artist
Joyce's Little Cloud

you are:
Ginsberg's Howl
Faulkner's Bear
Chekhov's Darling
and where Carver is calling from

You are
the best anthology of words
I'll read and read again
while I am still
working on all my rough drafts

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