Cold Bloom

The cool metal, pressed against my skin,

a sudden shock that makes me flinch.

Just for a second, then it's in,

that familiar, clinical pinch.

Below my collarbone, a quiet ear

listening for the beat, the intake of breath.

Each time, a small, remembered fear,

of what it might find, or bring of death.

The sound of my own insides, amplified,

a rushing, a soft drum, a liquid sigh.

And then it's gone, the moment nullified,

leaving just the echo, as the air goes dry.