The Book With Four Backs

I put our books face to face so they could talk. They whispered about us. I put yours on top of mine. They would not mate. Like poor dumb pandas in the London Zoo, they would not come together. I put them back to back. They would not sleep. I put them right side up to upside down. They would not lick each other's wounds. The night we met you fed me fish eggs & dark beer. We spoke of animals & Shakespeare. You talked about acidic inks & papers. You told me how our books digest themselves. You laid the pages of your body over mine. You printed my face with kisses. The letters fell into a heap under our bed. The sheets were dust. The fish eggs swam our mouths.