It hurts to love
To draw deep from the well
Of another’s spirit
To mix your own sweat with their
Sweetness
	And taste
Something no one imagined
	Together
	
	Entwined
My hand still enthralled with yours 
	Even here
	Even now
			On this sickbed
I am nauseous with this viris:
	The thought of losing you. 




Soon I will be nothing but 
	bruises and holes





…




I .............	I...............I
am..........	am..........	am	
sick.........	sick.........	sick
of.............with		
fear.........	fear