Blossoms

You won't show me your elbows
but you cut your soul open
like a coin purse and
share a thousand pennies
for the thousand thoughts
that crowd my skull
whenever you're on the stage.

I've shaken your hand,
my palm sweating against yours
along with my heart and
my brain stem-
which was blossoming, blossoming
against the walls of my skull
when I held the proof
of your heartbeat
between my thumb and forefinger.

I've woven your songs into
a velvet jacket
that I wear on Sunday morning
when I need to be purple and red.