tv drones, sleepy phones

i’m sliding into sickness, hot slick sweat warms
laying in the dark of my room, counting mews
if i had a set of pearls they’d soak up deep
all the color in me, coral, enamel, african black
pull sickness like the sweet insides of an oyster
i want you around me, even when i curl tight to myself
to sweep my hair, feel my forehead and gasp
tell me that it’ll be okay, that you’ll stay
protection from the collapsing chills, like water stroking
if i kiss you, i’ll curse you and down you’ll come
the look of surprise, horror, placid fear
i draw you near
the tv drones, sleepy phones, we’re tucked in for the night
and sticky flesh makes a comfy mesh
our mess of breath and slumber