Epithalamium

Lost in sleep, he trembles. Strange

dreams or his fever. This soft death

he can return from spoils him.

He’s skipped his regimen for weeks,

unable to partition his life into pills

measured in days, hours, meals.

Side effects of Atripla: it goes down, comes

back up. Osteopenia, bones fracture—

little sonnets in his foot, chemical-weak

or weakened kidneys? He didn’t know

if it was the virus or the drug. When

his bones stopped splintering his fever

wouldn’t budge. Through the window,

sunlight. Its forsythia laurelled his brow.

Acknowledgement

Stuffed animal on one side,

cold stare of a pillow on the other, you

have left me sophomoric. Thank you

for your time, the big thing

you had to show me, then

you didn’t, though I still look

for your complaints inside my mouth’s

hard pink. My wet. My teeth.

It is winter now. Your body

promised me a fire that the weather

baffles. You owe me. Then cold

covers what you owe, the generosity of strangers.

You were once a stranger. One morning, you found

your clothes in my closet. My bones

had their way with you. Inside and out.