thinking .
I nibble your sandwich
return it to the tray
try the jelly
the ward clatters
your skin has a little
more color today
your hands in a nurse's
I tie you behind
a supple grey bow
you insist on walking
the corridors draw
the pulse of our memories
we are slow
we are slow
we are slow
we reach the place
I cannot go and we
moth upon a mirror kiss
I wait with the chairs
lions in my belly
and cold sun in my chest
I dream we are enmeshed
creatures of light
danced in your head
the white coats
search for black holes, but
find our love instead
our tremor reaches
all the way out, and
down to the very last bed
© Brendan Bonsack
February 2019