I watch you breathe in your sleep
The rhythmic hush-whooshing you make
reminds me of the machines beside you.
Every week
The same machines murmured rumors of you,
An automated proof of life.
Now I lay beside you,
Trying to envelope you like the womb again,
Wondering if your breath is calm for a newborn,
Or if you think I’m a scary monster trying to swallow you whole.
I kiss your forehead.
I know it annoys you but I can’t control myself.
And we continue getting to know each other
Having so recently met.
Such an awkward introduction of blood and screaming and crying and skin
On skin
