You Give Me Fever

for leaseI have this fever. 104 degrees.

I try not to move, restricting myself to the confines of my silhouette of body heat.

Sweatshirt, sweatpants, socks. Even my hood is up, and you know how much I hate that.

Layers can only do so much. My body is homesick and you are home.

I try to envision waking up in the middle of the night with your arm around me like so many times before, our sweat mixing in the dark where your skin touches mine.

Suddenly I hate myself for all the times your body heat was too much and I hung precariously off the twin bed, trying to cool the distance between us.

I have this fever. 104 degrees. I have the chills, but not the kind you gave me when you glided your gentle fingertips along my stomach.

My lungs are heavy with longing, you burn them when I cough.

When they finally calm and I can draw in another cautious breath, you come springing back again.

My body wanted you back so badly it’d take in anything.

It took in this virus.

I have no immunity. I grapple for homeostasis.

Conserve heat, conserve strength, find it wherever possible. Recover, rebuild.


Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry, accompanied by photography. See more Microvember posts here

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