When I’m comatose
need I do you a dose.
If dark it comes close
your memory’s a rose.
Vegetative I breathe
your perfume seeps
into me now I sleep
as memory I do reap.
My heart seems part
of some aortic arc.
I try move it to start
so rustic and in dark.
I am not a machine,
I’m made tissue lean
stretched at its seams;
pain it is so extreme.
Before you my heart
has felt the dark part
of its existence mark
I where you did spark.
The wheels they turn,
levers now rapid churn
motion you it learned
or pain bitter it burns.
I a fool have a heart to
try delve past sad tune
as I peer past my mood;
its cloud to see a moon.
Function fixed I’ve got
gears you as if a clock
that though flesh soft
I transcend it as it rots.
