If all of my skin were to fall
         to ashes or burst into
      the deepest, reddest flames,
   and my eyes rolled up and I
     lay straight on my back, would you
        put me out or let me sleep?

     If we were side-by-side with our
    eyes toward the ceiling, and my
       lungs emitted
  a coarse death rattle and burrs
     sprung from my bones, severing
        all major veins and snapping every tendon--
                what then?

       What then, if, while sleeping, I extracted
      your pulse, tied it to mine, and
              sewed it back in, making our
        heartbeats into a complicated machine, somehow
    relying on and being fuelled by
          the other?

    If, upon holding your hand, my
        palm opened wide and I
  collapsed to my knees, holding
    my sides together, and my hairline
        dripped steadily with the contents of my
         skull and the masses cried stigmata,
     would you
   stitch me up or
      tell them I'm miraculous?

         And if, in feverish dreams, I
           make breathless love to you for
       the very first time and then
                when I wake up,
         blood pools at my feet--
                                   what then?