So Sick, Toxic

So sick, toxic:
exhume my corpse –
dug six feet under –
open the casket…
there’s still room for you.

So sick, toxic:
breathe life into me,
see these brittle bones,
held together so daintily
with sinew from rotten muscle.

So sick, toxic:
how does this disease feel?
I’ve rubbed off on you
“six feet won’t save you now,”
my skeleton smiles,
counting down.

So sick, toxic:
awaiting your departure
from the living world
you navigate with grace,
a ballet dancer
with a tear-stained face.

So sick, toxic:
in anticipation,
I rest my weary eyes,
awaiting your arrival
to where you should be:
my arms.

So sick, toxic:
cough the bile
out of your lungs.
Each trace of blood,
a reminder of me;
each bit of tar,
an ode to the depth of my eyes.

So sick, toxic:
lying in your bed, decrepit,
listening to the brass clock on
the wall of your hospital room
chime noon.
You’ll be with me, my sweet,
fifteen past noon.

So sick, toxic:
a reuniting, love everlasting,
I place a cold, skeletal kiss
on your cheek.
Thrilled by the skin I feel,
still
slightly
warm.