in my camera roll
a scroll
that knows me better
than i know myself
on our pilgrimage
to the rare books room
your best boy
close by
at the back of
the book of hours
a goblet
rouged at the rim
intent on holding
wine and blood
angels drawn so lightly on
the folio they crowd
you enthroned
gorgeous beside morris
open to book iv of troilus
head thrown back
golden
audienced expounding
seeing now what
i cannot be seen
to have seen