I knew the lonely parts of your heart.
They were my campgrounds
when my walls began to burn and
the ash and smoke threatened
to suffocate me beneath my
crumbling ribcage.

When it was winter in my heart,
and my veins became
frozen red rivers,
you always had a fire going
in yours.
I would huddle inside the
crevices between
your atriums and swim in your
bloodstream until I, too, was red
underneath your skin.