Poem 20150218


it’s a game we can play

tell me where it hurts, i say

everywhere, you say

then there’s only one cure, i say

amputation? you ask euthanasia?

let me start, i say,
by taking your hand

my hands are cold, you say
why are yours so warm?

i turn your hand over
revealing the wrist
i touch it with my index finger
below the thumb, avoiding the tendons
feeling for your pulse

i need a more sensitive instrument, i say

i raise your hand
press my lips against your skin
and i feel your pulse
beating so hard
it pounds in my own chest

i think you’re going to make it, i say