When I Look at You

A paper thin slice of apple under my tongue
isn't really there until I yawn. Like most people
in diners, this one is requesting something
soft and maple from you. Lifting my spirits with
syrup while making me spacy with the flu.
In dark pajamas covered in lint. Instead of bribing
you with levity I'll conjure up your mobility.
There, you are mobile. Your limbs carry you from room to room
to me. A man on medicine shouldn't make you feel sorry for him
as long as his cough is getting better.
Now the morning seems brighter with you
in the next room manipulating yarn
into organs that pump blood to my brain.
I hear you stirring or was it the fever
that manipulated the space around you?
I've decided to walk in my home and feel delight
when there is a delightful day to be delighted by.
Thanks for letting me in on you.