For years, you never left home without a watch
clasped tight around your wrist and, I know,
no one noticed the day you left it behind.

Now your wrist rests barren on white linen
beside mine while the cracked face collects dust
on your nightstand, shed

because you already knew
how much time you had left.
Your burden now is mine and I stitch

my veins together with a watch of my own
as I wait for yours to split before my eyes, for
the day you use your blood as paint

to taint my skies with crimson.
The hands' hollow ticking fills the silence of
tomorrow, counting each pulse

until you say goodbye for good this time.