Pulse

You crawled into my bed that night Like some sort of giant insect And I found myself spellbound At the sight of you there Cocooned in my room Beautiful and grotesque and all the rest of that bug stuff Bluffing your way into my mouth Behind my teeth, reaching for my scars That night we got kicked out of two bars And laughed our way home That night you leaned over And threw up into your hair And I thought I would offer you my pulse If I thought it would be useful I would give you my breath Except The problem with death is we have Some hundred years and then they can Build buildings on our only bones A hundred years and then your grave is not your own We lie in our beds, and our graves Unable to save ourselves from The quaint tragedies we invent And undo from the stupid circumstances We slalomed through I realized that night that the hall light Which seemed so bright when you turned it on is nothing Compared to the dawn Which is nothing, compared to the light Which seeps from me while you're sleeping Cocooned in my room Beautiful and grotesque resting That night we got kicked out of two bars And laughed our way home And I held you there thinking I would offer you my pulse I would give you my breath I would offer you my pulse