i watch him
as he inspects the rose held in his long fingers
and i realise for the first time
how fragile he is.

there are dark shadows beneath his eyes
and bruises on his milky skin
from my tight grip on his hips when we last made love.
his lips are still bruised from my kisses.

sometimes he seems to
struggle breathing
but i can't tell if it's the illness
or exhaustion.

at night he whispers to me
as he kisses the pads of my fingers
as he strokes my chest
as he takes me in his hot mouth

his eyes say
"i love you".
with each breath he is
dying.