maybe you can feel me,               the clunk
the clunk in my chest                    in yours

the drop in my                                 the drop
diaphragm,                                       of your hand

maybe you can see it,                  your eyes
my eyes open as open                 seeing as
                                                              mine
                                               

maybe you can hear it,               is
the hum inside my                        from your
                                                              mouth


maybe you can think me            as I
                                                              think
                                                              you

tired, but empty so

I'll lay at odd angles, in uncomfortable 

positions so as not to fall asleep. keep

hoping that maybe I'll make something

more of today, make

something, just make

something that makes today

a little more worth it, makes

me a little

more 

worth

 

today

pale 

speech 

can breathe                             in this

pick my breath from the empty,

carryit in your lungs, like it's your own

clear space in my own lungs, let you curl
hear my heart beat above your head

feel my breath quicken
and slow

my curved spine will cradle you,

hold my knees against my chest so you are 

warm, lift my diaphragm so as not
to crowd
you out

I have room, for you
here, I have
room 

This is not why I like your poetry. This is why I love you.

"Because poems look like pies through rose colored glasses and it's really hard to find a bad pie."

 - SH