i have grown dusty vines among your ribs,
etches of azure plunging through your apertures.
i could stay nestled inside your brain all day.
the temporal lobe is associated with memory,
so mine must be grey matter with paint marks
and holes deep enough to quiver.
i catch the breath you exhale,
gnawing at your thirst.
in your ribs, i want to remain. in your brain, i will stay.
darling, let’s be alive again tonight.
stain the sheets with every drop of our
humanity,
until we bleed, bleed, bleed,
together.