When I see you,

I want to lift you.

Hard body smooth under my rough hands,

your cold accepting my heat,

you make me (k)ne(a/e)d you.

But your soul is heavy in my hands;

I adjust my grip and strain –

will you rise up to meet me,

or will you tear me down with you?

Hot and wet under my calloused hands,

you make me sweat – I moan.

Rising painfully from the floor,

you’re dead weight;

why won’t you help me lift you up?

Holding you up takes effort,

but all your effort points down.

My heart hammers its ribbed prison,

beating for two,

your heart shows me spots,

invites me to the darkness.

My hands know before my heart:

they can’t hold on forever,

but they won’t disappoint you yet.

Your rough edges tear through my hard crust,

gall my raw soul.

Worm your way inside

and burn the muscles holding you up –

shoulders, legs, back, and hands.

Your darkness makes me weak

and my body lets you go.

You bounce back up without me,

but I fall into darkness without you,

heart still beating for two.