Remembering the Hotel Stay

In the drawer: a Bible,
in the bed, the scent of a bed

that can barely bear to be
unmade.  To sleep we nearly slice

it open, our legs skimming across
pure sheets.  Our course we could not

stay here, of course this desk
could not stand work; no service

could sustain us long.  Sunday
brings the bill slipped

beneath the door and we haul
our bags downstairs in answer,

but at least for awhile we had this
hollow Eden with its view of slighter roofs,

and each afternoon, crisp white towels
blooming like fruit on the rack.

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