maybe one day i can be a constant
and stop this heart that flutters like a moth
until then
lay
down with me
and i'll whisper to the headboard
i'll tell about the vines creeping up my legs and
under my rib cages,
about the heavy breaths i hold in my throat
i'll make irrational promises about calming
your fevers,
i'll thumb the pages of our story and
tell everyone who will listen
it's something quiet now
and probably dangerous,
but this new attitude i've adopted will
take it out to the backyard
and i'll still
grow gardens staring at my feet,
inching upwards,
and weed out the poisons.