My hands flutter up,
make haste,
to hide from you
my hollow eyes.
I am dying here,
as you are too--
writhing, gasping,
we lose this fight.
Your eyes,
a mirror,
are vacant too,
both our souls
retreating,
forsaken.
I am screaming
silent sand and dust,
your name an ache,
in my dry mouth.
I watch your lips,
fight death's grip,
holding tight
the shape of my name.
Nancy
Wonderful, Anne.
-James