One Night Stand

I can’t with waking yellow eyes
see who I went to bed with,
nor smell him or touch him,
when night we entered
is stranger. A plague upon
you, he wakes, and I once
watched my husband
curse on a mountain,
holding a plaque,

(did he say plaques?)

while the books I read
all titled He Held Me
missed words and were about how
I could not discover his name
until I authored them. That smell,
my goodness,
it’s the musty

(musky?)

smell of books (him) that sniffs
back his face and his old
unnerving display
of despair. I forgot
he’s not a danger, he’s
the man I love, and
the tock of our synchronized
clocks tick less and less
the few days we have left.

#NaPoWriMo 2016 Day 28