Respecting Aspects of Paul

Each time I visit, I wish I were not

Wiping the dust from a display case,

Or tentatively tipping over your body,

Inert, in the leaves, with the end of a pencil.

In a state, you made yourself

A state unto yourself.

State visits, stale biscuits

Must take place

At your bedsit.

Sitting, my back teeth float

In tea and other drinks

From Old Texaco,

Your laying open of love,

And how it just stops me

With its arc and its flow.