Apothecary
We both had stupid dreams
but I mean, I wasn’t the one
who was about to fly to Seattle
on a rainy Wednesday afternoon
just because I wanted to avoid finals.
You never took your medicine.
I mixed drugs for you at 2am,
wracked my brain for new herbs,
tonics, and powders. I stole
nightshade and foxglove, hidden
under my tongue and buried
in the thin-veined skin
just below my chin.
I would have beaten my bones into holy dust.
But I ran out of magic words
standing in the middle of your room
on top of weeks of unfolded laundry.
I hope the rats in your apartment eat you in your sleep
but I also kind of hope that
you don’t stop being the type of person
who offers me a ticket to Seattle
on a rainy Wednesday afternoon
when you were avoiding your finals and I was just watching you.
Take your medicine.