coma
gentle, rhythmic beeping –
lights on, lights off. Machines purr in the dark
and a heart beats for us now
tooled and efficient, as cool
as our fevered love never hoped for.
Aren’t you glad we upgraded?
Since then, we bleed together;
if I pull away too hard, I’m reminded of you
by our sanitised union through a plastic tube.
Our lungs trade stale air, like insults
joylessly, without flavour, or particular dislike –
indifference. You breathe in, I cough.
Your dreams exhaust me, shadow-comas.
The noise in your head makes mine quieter still.
I’m used to your siphoning, your midnight raids
on my last reserves. but you’ve gone too far.
My chart is inked in red, empty plastic sacs -
the blood I give you takes longer to come back.
Yesterday, I saw you open your eyes and smile.
I felt the damp heat of your hand on mine
and something inside me, that didn’t before,
began slowly and dully to ache.
I can only hope this light
that bursts and swells in my periphery
is leaving you in darkness.
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