Her bony arm.
The bloodless hand is too far from the black dress.
Beside my sickbed.
The anorexic hip, other arm and grimace face are impatient.
The frigid fingers find my nostrils and lips confidently
and seize.
The eyeless stare and half bald head.
My lungs seize and struggle, fighting her grip.
She cures me.


August 30, 2005
Edit | Reply