She never takes room—a spillover
lover from his last book
of bed times 

and sleeping porches
in a town so much 

warmer than here. Where
he would say fuck out
loud, she would be a collapsed 

chorus of giggles:
Who is this
who makes me fall  

down so easily into
spasms without withdrawal,
not even from a drop 

of espresso
that woman splattered 

on her way out the door? But
he sings it instead, and that
just makes her stand steady for more.