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).