Category Archives: Sleeping With Books by C.R. McCormmach

Sleeping with Books

by  C.R. McCormmach


I sleep with books now

rather than men

Neither can the dog

take her comforts

upon my pillow.

They lie next to me,

my books, page stained

and broken spined

like satiated lovers

waiting to be devoured

again and again

by a pitiless mistress.

Some are made to

wait the tongue

of my curiosity

and need

and rapacity.

While others simply

grow old

too fusty


and dry

for a second look

too dull

or gratuitous

like yellowed abstracted

bachelors in prim stacks

beneath my bed.

The best of them

are faithful and ardent

ecstatic and unreckoned

and I am wed to them

with solemn vows and

mind-lighted blown wide

orgasmic and insatiable

wanton lust for

what I cannot do

for myself.



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