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What could we do with our sickness,
would we skin or husk or hurry it?
Worry under it? Carry it gently
as it will shatter if held
wrong—could we dull it, drown it?
Would our sickness itch also
above the waist, above the throat
and do we now doubt our odd fidelity?
Could we say for certain the other
was never sick before, never, with
another lover, studied their length
and asked, What's this? And now
what of our mouths? Would you kiss me?
Could we screw our sickness more deeply
inside of our skin? Could we manage to keep
our hands to ourselves until we healed and
will we? Will we heal? There's a light
that pours from us—is it light? Can we
carve it from our bodies, burn it, offer it up?

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Copyright © 2017 Sophie Klahr All rights reserved
from Meet Me Here At Dawn
YesYes Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission