I remember the times you talked to yourself

and I'd pause to listen but

you would quieten as though

I wasn't privileged to hear the voices

that are loud 

and scatter

in your head,

but I remember the time you allowed me to listen with

my cheek pressed

to your chest

and I heard

the thumping of your heart

as it told me 

that you heard me.

You press your fingers to my cheek

and they're cold but your palms

are warm as you smiled down at me.