Sally Delehant

In sickness,
something flakes
on my tongue.

Glandular hull
or granular bulb?
I hack and wonder.

If I dizzy to the tile,
will I be found
before doctors

come like bees,
and our cups come
crashing down?            

Because of love we
won’t talk numbers,
days, and dollars.

Just lie in this with me—

Someone take our goat!
     Posit              some plywood. 
            Launch its candied smell.

I awake                thinking milk.
                     You saved me 
from a duck’s bill at my heel.

         I’m pawed after       
as pop caps            swept under
our bed.        You sweep me.          

Your hands
                      cup,         pay for                      
my feet            beneath quilts

                     touching yours
          in an urgent game
of caress-tag.

And while we
stand, me in sickness,
before its mirror,

I'm looking 
at your mouth.
Look in mine.

Posted 08/01/12

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