After sex, you pull a book down.
Yes, it really is.
A brave new world.
“I see what you did there.”
Laughing, I forget 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’re giving me.”
I see dollops of light delicately brushed into corners of eye.
“Are you still writing it?”
“Good. Is it about me?”
After a while, we’re asleep.
Brave New World clutched tightly to your chest.
My poem gripped just as tight in my head.