Atrophy

I shelter you from your own pain.
Sometimes, when you are reading,
I hold my own mess up to the light '
steal a look in secret. It is bigger than yours,
stronger. I fold it away with the linen.

I play violin for you, pull faces, cook
mushrooms and draw hearts
in your textbooks.
I slide inside your sleep, kiss you in
dark places. At dark times.
What would I do without you, you say.
Don't leave me, you say. Holding
the top of my arms, you bruise me.

Without you, you say
I would atrophy.

But with you
I suspect,
the end of me.