I Sleep With

I sleep with double pillows since you're gone. Is one of them for you-or is it you? My bed is heaped with books of poetry. I fall asleep on yellow legal pads. Oh the orgies in stationery stores! The love of printer's ink & think new pads! A poet has to fall in love to write. Her bed is heaped with papers, or with men. I keep your pillow pressed down with my books. They leave an indentation like your head. If I can't have you here, I'll take cold type- & words: the warmest things there are- but you.