Christine Hale

His Body,

His Body,

in the ER, on the gurney, white-sheeted, not yet cold. I fall on him. The husk of him. Still beautiful, that body. Long, lean, pleasingly hirsute. I love your fur, I used to giggle, stroking an arm, a leg. The nurses, the orderly, the so-young doctor recede, a sucking back my skin registers: their gaze …

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