My wife doesn’t talk much anymore; she’s still a delight; neighbors complain about a foul stench; I can’t seem to notice; when I hold her boney fingers I feel like she’ll just fall apart; a woman from the floor
above asked who I was talking to; she gave me a cool glance when I
mentioned my wife; she sits limply on her chair by the window; the
skeletal hands still resting in her lap, her skin turning grey while flies
roam around her; the worms crawl in and then crawl out, maybe pets are
what we needed; the worms and flies are odd, but she’s my wife, I love
her, even when her skin eventually rots; still, we’ll be together, forever.