In the dream,
It flits about me, pages flipping and buzzing,
An annoying gadfly, square and small and black,
Darting to hover above your eyes.
You look, and vanish from my clasp,
Dress for the evening, suavely ready, dark eyes far away,
Dreaming hotly of someone from that irritating book,
And the door closes behind you.
It must be a dream.
In my fist the white pages flutter to escape
Before I rend them, the words of betrayal
Inscribed deep on every leaf,
Except that they are all the same.
I look at every page, and every entry is the same.
My name, under all the entries;
Written on every line, my name.