Love, you cough and cause a ruckus--

lungs flushing,

heart chiming,

all a murmur for mercy.

Honeysuckle blood, drawn by a bee

and spilled like wine.

I cannot mop you up

I cannot still your shaking bones

or hush your pain.

I cannot fill your stomach--

you must remain

empty.

I cannot be clean veins or a

working organ, sealed with an acid kiss

and slipped between your ribs.

Love, I am

feathers sopping

and drenched in bile

and I cannot do a thing for you.

But if you say it helps,

I will hold your

clammy hands, lean

against your fever

and keep your lips

safe.

If you say it helps,

I will stay away from train tracks and

I will stay

with you.