Fever

It's dawn when I wake

from his flaming body.

Later he rests his head between my thighs

slowly exhaling in his sleep.

I sit by him as he soaks in the bathtub

my fingers working their way against his skin.

His frame is melting when I caress his hair

and sometimes it feels

like his defences are crumpling.

"Damn it, you have a wonderful touch,"

he murmurs

his hands around my waist.

His vulnerability

at times gives me pleasure

at times gives me grief.

I'm kind of glad

the affair will end the way it will.

I'd hate 

for the tenderness to turn bitter 

at the tips

of my sorry

limbs.