You crawled into my bed that night
Like some sort of giant insect
And I found myself spellbound
At the sight of you there
Cocooned in my room
Beautiful and grotesque and all the rest of that bug stuff
Bluffing your way into my mouth
Behind my teeth, reaching for my scars
That night we got kicked out of two bars
And laughed our way home

That night you leaned over
And threw up into your hair
And I thought
I would offer you my pulse
If I thought it would be useful
I would give you my breath
Except
The problem with death is we have
Some hundred years and then they can
Build buildings on our only bones
A hundred years and then your grave is not your own
We lie in our beds, and our graves
Unable to save ourselves from
The quaint tragedies we invent
And undo from the stupid circumstances
We slalomed through
I realized that night that the hall light
Which seemed so bright when you turned it on is nothing
Compared to the dawn
Which is nothing, compared to the light
Which seeps from me while you're sleeping
Cocooned in my room
Beautiful and grotesque resting
That night we got kicked out of two bars
And laughed our way home
And I held you there thinking
I would offer you my pulse
I would give you my breath
I would offer you my pulse