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