Airon

That long night
from chair to sofa
that I didn't sleep,
and the sound of your breathing
was sandpaper
on my sanity,
I wished you dead.

When the bugs crawled the walls
and we reached for one another,
I should have stopped
to look at the revolution
of our hands together -
my pale palm
against
your dark palm.

I should have steadied
my breathing with yours
at this connecting
one human to another
in the midst of a hallucinating death.

But you were the first to go,
and I wanted it done.
The tearing of my soul
acceptable grief
if you were gone.