What is love?

Love is sick,

Dying in bed, as her cold lips crave I nurse her before she slips away.

Love is not simple to be with,

But she adores the little gestures.

Love is not the extent of the four letters that you think,

She's vast, deeper and celestial.

She's in the tears I shed as Fentanyl goes through her veins,

She's the song I hear as she sleeps and winces lowly not to wake me up.

She's the smile I earn when she smiles first.

She's the grief that will hit me when the casket is being let down.

She's the girl I love loving.