youre in a too-small bed in pediatrics
all sticky plasters and twitching toes
stuffed full of wires, pink to the bone
hollow and soft, impossibly close

youre a skinned hare, still running
eyes drippy with moon milk so fresh
teeth carved from wax and every orifice
a wound; every love, from the flesh

so now the sun rises on a sea of all-pale
im holding your hand, waiting to flower
you let down your hair--i know its gone thin
but dear deer, ill still try your tower

we're wasting away in symmetrical styles
one from the heart; another from the head
ill leave it to you to figure which is literal
ill leave it to you to see my blood be bled
(its too much for me, now: all i can consider
are the slow and subtle pains of sharing your bed.)