Vinamratha Rao, MD-PhD Third Year
I lay beside you
and dream of
our becoming
at the close.
Will our skin slip off
into a heap
of tangled velvet ribbons
on this plush earth,
where sleepy worms burrow?
Will the fat drip
from our bones
into shimmering pools
heated by the furnace,
leagues below?
We will begin again
in the same dirt.
Why wait?
Let our spines creak
like dusty piano keys
and
our tendons snap
like violin strings.
Make room,
as I reclaim my birth
in the cacophony
to bloom silently in your ribcage.
Dreams will not feed
this hunger.
For when we part,
I remember
I am trapped in this whole,
to rot alone.
Med Intima 