Flatline

Lying on cold pitch with blurred vision 
Under the streetlights
Flickering faster than I can recover my focus
I could hear that familiar voice
But no longer cheerful
Icy? No raspy
Words tripping over each other 
High pitch and breaking on some notes
Smiling I muttered, “you never could sing”
Gripping my hand oh so tight
“sniff sniff” smiling through tears my love replied
“I thought you liked my singing”
My grip loosening as my strength dimmed 
That raspy voice again
His hand leaving mines 
Now on my face 
“ stay with me,”
“hang in there”
“talk to me hunnie”
“they’ll be here soon”
To no response hand falling to the ground
Distance growing between us yet our positions 
Remain untouched.

S.H