she still
clutches my face
grabbing
with more ferocity
than is necessary
in a show
of love
more a sign
of ownership
left me shaking
sweating
through thirteen hours
of fitful sleep
yet still
she clings on
in a stranglehold
just south
of choking
just past
seeing spots
she is fever
she is pain
she is

we dance together
in these
awkward twitching steps
of sickness
a dance macabre
this danse macabre
this bewitching act
of torture
draped
in loving admonitions
the natural response
to infection
an injection
of warfare
on the cellular level
to level
the playing field
of microscopic
quandary