A heart cannot pull away from its veins.
At the corridor’s end, one step shy of snapping
the arteries that bind me to you, I turn and flee
to your bedside, my fearful heart beating its fists
on the white doors of your room, as if it might find
them locked and barred, but they open, they
still accept me, you still sleep, dreaming to the
hushing lullabies of your respirator. Your hand is
warm and I imagine your fingers curl, just a little,
around mine. I’ll stay here until you wake up.
I’ll stay here until you wake up.