i feel a little “my baby” for you
 but i also just want you to go to sleep.
  wake up in the same room. not the same
    bed, just rumpled and white eyes and breathing
      slower than this hummingbird month. days flicking
        by like millisecond wings. you don’t feel like the old home
          of a laced bullet anymore and it’s been years since i felt whole
             on my own. you would hate to hear me call you baby.
                only a few days younger than me, baby.

 the purgatorish entrance wound is sealing.