Libraries of Concubines by Kristin Garth

You are subtext protected, in plastic,

to keep a summer he will memorize

your insides, knuckle deep — grows bombastic

reciting favorite lines. Amortize

between cloth covers, months, arching your spine,

mars borrowable contents, dozens of

times, your yellowing vellum underlines

his voracity mistaken for love —

some space, his shelf, above even the dust

(expectation after the lust). He yearns

for something, season you’re overdue, just

bookmarking funds, a mutual return,

he earns, to libraries of concubines.

It’s worth your damages, requisite fines.

Kristin Garth is a Pushcart, Best of the Net & Rhysling nominated poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker.  Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Yes, Glass, Luna Luna, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, and other places.  She is the author of eleven books of poetry including Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), Puritan U (Rhythm & Bones Press) and Candy Cigarette Womanchild Noir (The Hedgehog Poetry Press) and the forthcoming Flutter: Southern Gothic Fever Dream (TwistiT Press, 2020).  Follow her on Twitter:  (@lolaandjolie) and her website (kristingarth.com).