I hear the coughing at four or five in the morning
when i ease through the black crack in the doorway to your room.
your skinny throat grumbling agian like a steeple crashing into your lungs.
Sometimes i feel my hands are sewn behind my back my darling.
Sometimes i see you trembling, glistening with crystals, like a closed fist too
tight for me to squeeze through.
Sometimes i feel your skin like an empty emberless furnace, cold and hard
and when i saw an ant creeping up the bone on your shoulder in the dark
to crush it
i pressed my skin to your skin
and i held and i held and i held.