Love In the Era of Coronavirus

I wonder what you are doing. 
I hope you won't go to a bar, a meeting, a gathering?
I hope you don't get the bug.
I know you are susceptible--
last time I saw you, you were having a cold. 
I felt wretched hearing you sniffling, 
knowing I couldn't help but wished I could.
With your throaty voice, no doubt caused by your blocked nose,
you yelled and complained about something,
some cases--one was mine--that shouldn't belong to the elite category.
Poor Dear.
I imagined rushing towards you, holding you in my arms,
feeding you Pangdahai drinks, comforting you, and lulling you to sleep.
I imagined touching your cheeks, too hot, burning my fingers.
I imagined watching you sleep. 
I imagined rewriting the famous folklore of Chang'e and Hou Yi into
the story of a rabbit and a monkey--you and me.

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