Structural Integrity

I rest my chin in the hollow of your neck

and feel the ridge of bone against my skin.

It’s such a thin and prehistoric check

against the weight of the world we’re living in.

I can see your pulse in the shallow dip,

a tiny hammer beating at the wall.

If I held too tight, if I let my fingers slip,

I feel like the whole architecture would fall.

You’re made of glass and grit and bird-light things,

a delicate frame for a heart that’s far too loud.

I’m terrified of what a little pressure brings,

watching you sleep, so fragile and so proud.