i didn’t fall in love with you
until your skin was already grey and i
had to tell you what the weather was like
since you couldn’t leave your bed.
i didn’t mind long nights in the hospital
because making you laugh brought a warmth
to my cheeks that burnt hotter than a
forest fire, you never laughed at me for blushing
i snuck you in alcohol and forbidden foods
and pushed you around in that rusted wheel chair,
and all the nurses looked at us with
miserable eyes that said more than the doctors
would ever tell me.
naively i thought it was good news
when you said they were sending you home; but
when i saw you strewn across your wine red sheets
my heart was heavy with foreboding, and
neither one of us said anything while i
slid an iv into your paper-skin hand, so
i never asked if you were okay.
we kissed and i didn’t comment
on your snowflake lips or the fact that
your hands shook like earth quakes when
they grazed my thigh and i held you tightly
like if i could keep all your pieces together
you’d never break apart,
but the world is never that easy.
for forty-seven days we laughed
and cried, and kissed, and fucked and fought
in that bed;
your mom knew but she still let me stay the night.
i heard her weeping through the walls,
i never knew she was counting down the minutes
that we still had together.
after forty-seven mornings of you
kissing me awake i was confused by
the feeling of sunlight on my lips and
i will never forget the way it cast
shadows across your sullen face.
they say the heart knows before the brain does;
it must be true because i felt the avalanche in my chest
and i don’t know if i’ll ever stop crying because
your mouth was pursed as if
you had tried to say goodbye but
God was dead set on fucking us over,
one last time