She is.

She is
Sick to the touch and subtly falling away,
through wrapped arms and kisses under skies,
through quiet words and loud inhalation.
A decade doesn't get you any closer to loving her
the way she needs to be loved.
She is
Floating between seasons and challenging God,
searching for five fingers and a palm to grasp,
knowing no scent but the one left there on the pillow,
untouchable.
She is.