Thursday, April 11, 2013

for C

at night, with you

I grow another set of legs.
Arms. A second pair of lungs.
Larger, I can do anything better.

My new heart—it pulses
against an old shoulder blade,
telling last hurt something
spectacular, like:
How do I keep you.

Morning brings several
amputations. Whose hands
am I left with? Mine or yours?