I wanted you the way that
January leaves need the
snow to water out
their dry, cracked
veins

but now you're in my
blood, the way that
an infection crawls
into an open wound,
plants it's seeds and
grows there

every lungful of
air is mixed with
sand, sticking like
dust to the back of
my throat

sandbagging
our voices, forcing them
to be content with
the odd restless
word that slips
through our lips
whilst we're sleeping

silence is our
live in and she
runs a tight ship

tight enough
to keeps us touching
no matter how hard
our limbs try to fight
their way to
freedom