The woman takes up all the space.
She spreads her legs
across the bed
as if she owns the place.

The man on the edge
of the occupied bed
can’t decide if he wants
her sleeping perfume

or the neat-sheeted tomb
of a bed in a room
shuttered, uncluttered,
monadic, immune,
where all’s effaced:
the woman’s legs,
her careless spread,
her loose-limbed night embrace.