Doped up on painkillers, one hand tied
to your wheelchair, you smile
and spit, gently. You have blue eyes and
blond hair, hands that don’'t stop trembling, limbs
like those of a skeleton, every joint
sticking out of your otherwise straight lines.
I don'’t like describing people’s' physical
attributes, instead preferring to focus
on their personality, their thoughts, the way
I relate to them. You are a blank page,
you are a question-mark,
you are the place where my words stumble
and catch and trip and fail and fall.
You have never spoken a word
beyond the babblings of babies, and even that
was many long years ago. I cannot imagine
my life without you, but in the same measure,
I cannot imagine my life
with you, either.