Medicine.

I can't fall asleep if you're
not at ease, steady in my arms.
Even when you are, I worry.
I watch each breath stutter out,
making sure that saber-toothed
dreams haven't paralyzed you.

There's a certain kind of heartache
in knowing you,

but not the kind I'd ever regret.

You teach me the languages
of love, and all its complications,
and I choose to listen

because there really is no
alternative.

I'd be a hollow tree,
a dead dream, an oleander root

if it wasn't for you.