Love Shared in Hospital Beds


We lay, separated
by cold tile and sanitized guardrails-
but as one, always have been one-
make-believing we are
fit to live to see tomorrow.
Yet, we struggle to dance
even in our dreams
from these deathbeds.
We shake the bedpans
with putrid stomach aches
as we watch through
our motion picture windows
the past framed to life
in contemporary style.
“It was not long ago,”
he sighs,
“that was us; those legs,
that sun-kissed hair.
Holding hands was such
a guilty pleasure then.
Never thought it’d land me here.
Damn discourse of being-
put here to procreate,
and because of it, die.
I vowed against conformity-
No! No, damnit! Not me.
But my blood is there, out there
holding hands.”
Reaching for my hand as he rolls over
he shakes his head in honest disbelief.
But, it’s my blood too, out there in that one-
holding hands,
conforming.
We did our part as one,
and now we part too,
two, but always
as one.
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