I’m talking to the one I love.
We’re not touching.
Last night he dreamt that after years
of looking—through endless shelves—
he’d found the book
he’d longed for his whole life.
He woke and looked around,
and finally shook me
from sleep. The morning
lit up his eyes—the frantic creases—
his mouth as he asked me,
where where where
is the body that never forgets.