Under the sheets

White cotton sheets, white ghosts reclining,
on beds which stink of meds and bodies.
Machines beep and it reminds me of
the bell that rang when the door opened
and you walked in my life.

You were driven by who knows what.
 You walked under a shadow of wickedness wearing a mask;
Green eyes stared at me through jagged holes.
Your delicate hands held a revolver.
You pointed it at me.

I was a rabbit caught in the light of your love.
Dazed, I raised my hands over my head,
and walked away.
You took the cash from the stash and turned around
to find my hand on your shoulder.

A magician’s trick of hands or an exchange of gift between friends.
A bomb went off, a trigger pulled, a lump burst.

Between sheets you are a frail deer, your once-luminous eyes blink
with the cadence of the beeping machine,
whose sound now vanishes,
and you walk out of my life as hurriedly as you came in.