Gossamer sheers flutter in the morning breeze.
I lie beside him and gaze upon his shrunken self,
then gently sponge away the remnants of a yesterday.
Noon rays fester, casting hints of SOS’s
from the hostile flotilla of Rx vessels.
The steaming broth is once again refused.
Moon shadows flicker. In the warmth of our bed
he traces my face with skeletal fingers and whispers
“I will lay down my life for you.”
Jan Chapman
November, 2012
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