My breathing is slower than your breathing. I am stable. Time runs gently through me.

I am addicted to a faster heartbeat. With a heart that beats to the rhythm of a cold, war drum, the same heart desires more than a steady pulse.

Lighting and thunder. Phone calls. Sprints in the dark.

You may look at me and tell yourself, "She is life. A tree."

I may question, "Where are my leaves?"

Swerving cars. A hungry face. Touching in the light.

This is what she wants. To float. It takes more to move bones.

I am addicted to a cold sweat. Why the dry palms? I am never sick.

Brain tumor. Enraged appendix. Meningitis in the spinal cord.

Observant is what they say. Listener is what I am. I hear you with all senses.

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