So once you were my intravenous drip:
The only thing that stopped me drifting off,
A constant stable presence at my hip,
Alert to every tremble, every cough,
And before that you were my medicine,
Warmth flowing from each droplet on my tongue,
Your healing hands so steady on my skin,
My life support machine, my iron lung.
Your scalpel is so soft as it digs in.
The blood’s an emissary from my heart,
Stretching, so tentative, towards your touch:
An emigration doomed right from the start.
As I lie here and murmur, whimper, groan,
Your rubber glove plunges towards my bone.
