Visitors on a Monday Night, Vacant and Sternly Warning

There was never an orchard in those days
I did not hold a towel
Over our bodies
We did not rinse in sands of equations
Or tailor our amusement to the burning flags
Of yesterday’s countries

I did, however,
Get you to read fiction
I believe you liked it
Or so I am told
We could not tolerate our different
Stages of learning
We could only love in the shower
Where I preferred not to
I always preferred not to
But it was the only language you understood
Like a stone with flowers growing out of its belly
It did not sink, but it could not stand