In A Hospice

You were lying
A question mark on its edge
A hipbone I couldn’t take my eyes off
Your hand that had lived too short
Resting under a cheekbone
That sliced your palm
Your skin was honesty
Rice paper thin
Stretched over willow
A glow still lighting up
But leaking
I passed you with my wares
On wheels
And you recoiled
Afraid to eat
Afraid to choke
Afraid of a custard cream
Afraid of every single
Tiny moment left
And it broke my heart
Into thousands
Upon thousands
And I didn’t hold your hand
Because I didn’t know you
And I should have held your hand
But I wasn’t meant to
And I should have held you
At least for a little while

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