Misheard Rumours

She's made of misheard rumours, wild and dark,
They make me glance across the empty bed;
The corners of her mouth have found their mark -
I hope they mark my lips, before she's led
To show she's made of awkward rides away
In elevators and automobiles;
See, I would fuck her once more, if she'd stay -
A presence that perfumes, just as it steals
Across my mind, like the ghost notes of songs,
Which she has never heard and never will;
And, though these tunes are lost, I know she longs
For love-making with me; yes, all her skill
Would fill this empty bed: it's not absurd,
Her being made of rumours, I've misheard.