I read your autobiography
in the stormclouds of your eyes,
locked a plethora of suffering
with a single glance, and maybe
knowing how badly you were
hurting was just too much
for my exhausted brain to handle
during the time being. If it's
any comfort, I wanted to tell you,
Every breath you take is just
enough to stir up the featherweight
grains of hope that had once been
stuck so far off in the corners
of my mind that I never realized
I possessed them, until the day
I molded myself to fit into the curves
of your lips. But of course,
personal topics or even ideas
were taboo in our sterile prison,
so I could only hope that you
could feel it whenever our fingers
brushed together, which was the only
physical contact we achieved, as
touching was formidably forbidden,
but you managed to give me the world
every time your hand tickled
my own, when you reached out
to take my empty milk cartons
and put them in the trash can
for me like a gentleman.
Every other moment, I would
find myself glancing anxiously down
at your shattered wrist, trying not
to either look at or covet
the crude edges of that perfect scar,
but just wanting to make sure
that the hospital bracelet - our covenant
and your wedding ring to me -
was still there... Just wanting
to make sure that you weren't
about to go anyplace without me
again - just to be sure that
this time, you were here to stay.
