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.