Home (The Post-Tonsillectomy Poem)

Here have I lain:
weak-awake
in the wake
of acetaminophen's
sweet, uncomfortable taste,

with a throat battle-bruised
where an itch once did move,

but now sits -
sits and waits
on the edge of my brow,

on the fact that my eyes
have gone greener, somehow -
on the image of home,
and home's kiss on my mouth,
and the feel of home's holy hands
holding me down -

for here have I lain:
nauseated with pain,
shaking, sweating
and smiling
with home in my veins.