Fill me up with each thought
that you have thought up
while you slept on your own
and woke at twelve at night
to show that you live
and that you have not yet ceased
to breathe in and out in time
to the beat of her heart;
pour out the lead that colors your heart
a few shades too dark to be seen
and scrub clean the scarred edges
so they can mend.
Stitch up each wound with the threads
that were left from your pursed lips
and speak to her through my words
and this mind of mine.