I'm afraid
this warmth that blooms and bleeds
will fade and I'd sooner shutter my heart
than shudder at the loss.
The haze, these ghosts
that spit and splinter my thoughts,
but I am unarmed.

I am only assuring
my balloons don't live to haunt,
to shrivel and screech through guts.
The ribbons are tied
they are airtight
round my wrist till it's white
I crave your cream-colored oblivion
I only stagger into blackness
with the guilt of desertion.