if i were to die on each evening tick
i'd save the air i would expend
to fill your room with bubbles; ideas
naked under liminal clothes

with you, i live between each heavy second
between each slow degree we turn
we could hold our weight with just a gaze
the weight of withheld gasps for words

if one more drop of blood would spill
would it still taste of iron? or sweet
as honey does so fervently of sugar

spill a bath and compose a tune, then
of the gentle pops of bubble prayers;
and sing me one final blessed eulogy

drown me deep in fever dreams,
float an arrow between my pretty eyes
and **** me, beautifully