I Can No Longer Feed You My Love

The nurse cringes
when I move up beside you
using your old wheelchair as a seat
and you lay in half recline.
I put the food
into your mouth
to bring back to me
the house that you have slipped from
just months ago.

As I reproduce
a warm vestige
of what we had
just over
the thinnest wall of weeks
it stuffs your lungs.
I can no longer
feed you my love.