"I'm gonna write a letter. I'm gonna sign my name. Like a patient on a table, I wanna walk again. Gonna move through the pain."


Like a patient on a table
I lay there motionless,
waiting for movement to return
after the frenzy and sweet delirium, 
waiting for the knife, the cold,

your voice
your breast
your hand with thin
latex covering each nail-shod
finger touching my temple,

feeling the plates of my
skull and eating your meals
off them.  I loved you
then more than I care to

remember the time we
laughed at how I tripped
then screamed as I fell
into traffic?

And the way you
sewed me up and tightened
my many weeping sutures?

And the way I wept of joy with them
because I felt your touch then
as I did on our table?

And how despite every anesthetic
I felt every touch

every puncture
every promise

every kiss?


1.16 - 4.12.16