The creases lining your face are prominent
like cracks in the sidewalk.
You breathe as if you have just run a marathon,
your last race.
Your skin, pale as a white rose,
lies flat against your bones,
a waxy cover over your beauty.
Your chest rises and falls, building
luminous green-lined mountains,
while high pitch notes mark time.
I hold your hand, it shakes,
a frail branch twitching in the wind.
Goosebumps bubble upon my skin,
as your fingers squeeze feebly beneath mine.
“I love you”, I breathe softly.
Your response is a whisper
on the wind.
It’s gone as soon as it came.