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.