You did not expect him to be what he was:

        bare inches of a storm you coughed up,
               bared bones of a skeleton you clung onto,
                         barren land trying to make the sky blue
                         barren land trying to make the sky blue
               bared bones of a skeleton you clung onto,
        bare inches of a storm you coughed up

the shape of something forever on its way.

You did not expect it,
         the fever eye of what the open window let into your home
                          not the storm you had asked for, the rain only acid
                          refusing to drown, preferring to devour as leftovers
                          as instinct.

You did not expect him 
    beautiful boy maybe                                 
    bad for everything
    around him

    but better than you.

Bared bones said hello when no one wanted to hear it
and bared inches threatened slow death the way you always wanted;
barren land still didn't have any room for your body
    much less your voice, your residue which never could be anything but a struggle.

Still, you did not expect him
recurrence
shadow at the back of your skull
pressing
words as dead flowers,
for keeps.

Once you invented a hospital. Some of it was true -
- the dark, the sound, the faces unrecognized.
He was there too, sat steadfast holding your hand
like he wanted you to make it, saying love and talking
about going home. In your head he told you to think
of the needles as stems of the flowers you loved, to
imagine they love you back just as much.

It was not until later you knew.

He didn't mean the flowers
and the chair was empty.

Lucky isn't it.
You did not expect him anyway.