what happened to that book—

that one which we both loved, 

desperately, one summer,

stealing it from one another

whenever we gave in to sleep,

the one we said would change 

us forever, as if aesop had cast

a spell within its pages, making 

us new creatures, with horns

and claws wedded with tenderness.

I have torn apart every shelf 

in the house. looked under every bed.

rummaged about in your drawers. 

perhaps it has disappeared

for good, as we transformed into 

some solid middle-aged coupling.

perhaps it does not or never did 

exist. perhaps the story was a shared

fantasy, when we were young

together and in love. the story we

told each other naked to make

the both of us forget to be ashamed.