caterpillars in my chest

swathed in sleeves of silk

in which their xanthous bodies

will crumble

like my composure

beneath the shimmering

wonder of your eyes

a wonder soft and light

like a summer evening breeze

that stirs up the ashes of the

caterpillars cocooned behind my collarbone

that they may rise again

in a flutter of kaleidoscopic wings

beating against the walls of my heart

darling, i want to be your music

i want to be your song

but when my lips part to sing for you

all that escapes are

b u t t e r f l i e s

So when you're near me, darling can't you hear me, S.O.S.

The small room was quiet, the electronic rhythmic beep the only noise. The light was respectfully muted. They held hands, though one grip was considerably weaker.

‘I try to remember the days we were happy,’ he said, though she did not listen. ’Why is it so hard to remember that once we loved and laughed and lived? Surely, we have spent more time outside of this room than in it? Have these walls made us so distant that your mind is closed the possibility of love?

’I wish I understood, but it is beyond me. Maybe in time, we will both recall how nice and good we were together. For now, I wish only that you would hear me.

’Please. Please remember that love. The love you gave me, the love I returned. If anything can spare us further pain, it must be memories of our love. For what am I, without you?

’I can feel your skin on mine, so near, yet you seem miles away. Your heart is dying, I know. Perhaps it has already died, beaten by a life too cruel and uncaring to comprehend.

‘If only I could heal you. If only I could return you to your former positive and life-affirming self. If I could return to you the love you gave me, perhaps that could save you.’

He said no more. The beeping stopped.

With a prayer and a tear, she was led from husband’s bedside.