I knew a nurse once; she woke me with
wet kisses—she held my heart together.
I had a bad November. Hit the road way too
hard with vodka and lianas, all shudder &
ground swell, never harming a hair on its head.
For a while, she pitched a tent in my chest,
battled the nature of my being from within,
till a sun woke & stretched, parted clouds
in me—disease of the shrugged
dusted from frail shoulders.
With kisses, she spoke through my breath,
come morning, & I, kissed face all woken,
took her in every moving swell of skin. A
poet born—two green torched eyes &
framed to burn from heights so great, she’d
tire to climb. Not the nurse I once knew—
holder of broken things; she of the kissed breath,
covered in sheets so wet—No, this climb is
for the breaker of organs—
she knows who she is.