i. i wish i could stick to you like
a slow, meaningless suffering
shuffled across your bedroom floor.
were you to
choke on a gasp or
spin around too fast
i could be your
last fresh breath or ankle carpet tangle,
ii. oh! what a sweet skull to be crowned with,
what a sweet skill to cloak:
a masterful unraveling
of thread to tie you together
but we end up tied up,
started with my red band of yarn
you wrapped around my ring finger;
pressed our praying palms into
a tapestry depicting
the fall of man.
iii. and now!
my wrist veins are in your arm, we share
and we are trapped in a glass dome
with nothing to look at
as we sink into the dark sea.
the pressure is pushing.
i look for cracks in the glass
so close to my eyes
it has all blurred.
iv. there are bubbles in the blood we share.
don’t go to sleep if you’re stroking out.
you don’t believe in doctors so we are
heart surgeons, profound absurd prodigies
sanitizing my bedroom floor.
white lights and penicillin are ambiance,
the scalpels sing “will you won’t you.”
put a flower under your tongue and
wipe your brow,
use your hands to break my ribs
and open me up.
v. i have a distinct memory of
you as the sun
and never knowing
how my retinas burned,
forgetting to look
for a cure
when you developed a cough.