After sex, you pull a book down from my nearby shelf.
A copy of Brave New World.
Yes, it really is.
A brave new world.
“I see what you did there.”
The well-thumbed book laying rakishly across your well-thumbed breasts.
You giggle and touch my leg.
I forget that we are naked.
“Are you writing a poem in your head right now?”
Yes. How did you know?
“I can tell by the looks you are giving me.”
I look deep into the pockets of light trapped in the center of your eyes.
“Are you still writing it?”
“Good. Is it about me?”
You smile at me; I write in my head.
I kiss your forehead and you kiss my chin.
After a while, we both fall asleep.
My copy of Brave New World still clutched tightly to your chest.
My poem clutched just as tight in my head.