my man
his skin was made from weeds—my favorite flower—
so resilient and smooth
the yellow flowers match the phlegm coming from his pale throat
my hands tremble as i run my fingers across wool
stretching over the cramped bed, my warm cloth brushes over his forehead
the coughs come in waves and crash against my ears
the redness coming from his sclera
mixed with his whines that he covers with blood
i traced letters in his mucus that leaks unevenly from his flared nostrils
he never looked more mine than now
the fire cracks like a belt in the distance
i know that he is going to leave
my futile dreams dusted across his lily cheeks
the only thing i’ve ever been scared of
my future being a distant memory
the fever crawls down his skin into his white blood cells
i feel he won’t go away
—i am terrified—
every kiss we share
every smudge of tear
every one
is a never ending benediction
i bite to tear the heat from his bloodstream
how could it try to take him from me
it hurts me too—
the feeling of his arteries under my tongue
vitality embedded in his being
euphoric warmth causes my back to fold over him
urges fall over me
as will he.
now
i feel him
in my being
in my flower
my man
—jam
