fourty watts

my lungs are

b u b b l e s,

i can't feel anything in my chest
but air,
but it's
nice
to think that if i tripped,
and crashed my ribs open,
the silvery surface of my lungs would
w
o
b
b
l
e
and reflect whisper-thin rainbows
all down the curves
or their bubble-y sides.

my bones are straw,
hollow,
my blood like water,
my heart
a flickering candle.

you
you are no doctor
but you have a white shirt
and
that's close enough.

you 
p o p p e d
the bubbles with a kiss,
and the rainbows were gone.
replaced them
with
rubber band balls
smalltightpressingdownonme
when i see you.

they are RED and BLUE
and GREEN
and they 
w
  e
a
  v
e
around my ribs and 
down my spine.

my bones are titanium,
but
achey titanium.

you blew out
my candleheart
and swapped it for a 
star,
a flashlight,
a lamp-post on a dismal london street.
any light that
lasts.