After the E.R.

Your heart is beating much faster than mine.
I lay my hand on your chest and it's
Horses thundering under your breast,
Thunder pounding under your breast
And I wonder if it's always been that way
Or if maybe I need to take you back.

Last night it was dinner from a vending machine
And sharing rows of plastic chairs with
Strangers wearing lines on their faces
That probably weren't there yesterday,
Watching everyone look up with
Anticipation or dread each time a nurse
Walked through those double doors.

Tonight I lay waiting, afraid to go to sleep
In fear that something else might go wrong.
I keep my hand resting over your bare chest
Skin burning hot to the touch, and feel
Pounding hammers under my palm
Praying I don't need to take you back.