It was the last time I saw my friend alive.
She lay her petite clothed body
along the full length of his lanky one,
machines and tubing his newly-hatched limbs.
It is an elemental moment.
Also a sensual one.
She caressed him, cooed at him,
she even stroked his chest.
Why was that?
To show his arousal
at her barest touch
even while in coma?
To hold on just a bit longer?
I found it shocking. All of it --
his hardening nipple
her lavishment upon him
my witness of it all
I have shared these poems
with my adoring, aging uncle.
He too found himself uncomfortable voyeur,
party to something he shouldn’t be.
perhaps this intimacy is not totally
for me to know about.
(cc) Karen G. Johnston
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