Dangerous Electric

I once loved a boy who built batteries for pacemakers, miniature machines that could glint a heart to life. There were no secrets in his fingertips; to make sure, I held them to the light. Even so, he had learned a way to make a pulse. He might have set it down like a wind-up toy: a small bear stomping across the table, escape on its mechanical mind. Now, my own steps stutter when I sneak into the hospital and figure out how to bring you back. With me comes every girl I've ever been, holding hands to let the current shiver through us like spun sunlight: flaxen, fizzy, a memory of miles, of measure, time tangled together, copper wires in my palm. Hello, gorgeous, give me your hand. We've been waiting for you. So rise, girl. Wake up.