An Unlikely Love Poem

She is ill. Coughing. Struggling for breath.
Exhausted.

I am wounded. Sore, The surgeon’s scars still bright and vivid.
Weak.

Our hands touch. Skin to skin. Even now there is electricity in it.
Life.

About this poem.

A rough weekend at the Atkins house. But even so, I rejoice in having the woman I love nearby. Close enough to touch.

Tom