Your image in my eye
dries and dies;
what could live in this desert place of mine?
One day you’ll have the death of me
splattered all over your stark-white shirt
the most soft and tender breath
could be lost on your face.
-She’s sitting between crumbled sheets,
bones squeaking like a cat;
the illusion of happiness-
I could never stitch you back
head and heart and limbs together
it would take more than my life
to make you whole again.