I Still Sometimes Dream of You

I still sometimes dream of you, young and strong, a man's man, far younger than I am now, and a far cry from the old man we watched slowly waste away.

During those long months when the cancer slipped and snaked through your body your strong voice still soothed those gathered around you as if they, not you were the ones afflicted.

Your sole complaint that your feet hurt. It seemed strange to you that I rubbed them and massaged your toes till the pain subsided, my hands impossibly remembering in the moment how calloused and cold your feet were to my touch.

You tried to eat at every meal, apologizing after a bite or too, maybe you would eat more later, but you never did, the taste and pleasure of foods that you had long enjoyed lost as you starved surrounded by plenty.

I never kissed you till the end, bending to press my lips to your head after caressing it, the musk of your scent teasing my nostrils with the illusion that you were undiminished by your illness even as it stole you away.