Poetry revision time: Banshee

Banshee

She dabs his hot form
with damp cloths, smooths
tremors from his limbs.

I see two faces: bliss
amid the scale hide
and eyes that sing.

Zinc balms swathe blisters:
she wraps him in swaddle;
snow over a new-sown grave.

My lungs rack at
each breath. She reeks
of rose and soaps.

Wires weave monitors to skin
and graphs dance on screens;
Her claw rests on his brow.

Cool, she is; calm.
I am at her mercy
and all is good.

She slips away and a machine
wails an escape: his crisp
flesh shackle falls still.