When it's three am
and the cold water splashes
against your face, wiping
away the sweat of another
nightmare,

When it's just about noon
and the old fork clatters
from your hand, moving
beyond the loneliness of another
meal,

When it's half past six
and the exasperated sigh escapes
from your lips, easing
aside the tension of another
day,

that is when I hope you recall,
remember, that once--
much more than once--
I was your gratifying well,
your overflowing banquet,
your everlasting breath.