Fetching

It's an attractive illness.

Dramatic contrasts of

red against white

of blood on cotton.

Voice softened by

endless coughing,

intimate conversations abound now.

Bright, sparkling eyes

burning with temperature,

so captivating in their intensity.

Trembling, delicate hands

from night sweats and exhaustion,

and not nervousness.

Pink against pale,

a feverish blush,

not from flattery.

Thinness and weakness

from a waning appetite,

it isn't a choice.

Such poetic charms

such a tragic image,

it's such a shame.

Even in dying

there's no escape

from excepted beauty.