Back when I had lost all my friends and the last lover sat there behind the barred door, she would gather me up with so much warmth.

      She knew I could not be without rhythm. So she played the harp for me. Caresses from hushed lullabies sitting against the windowsill.

      She wept when she saw me naked. I pretended I did not see. She bathed me in flowers and silk.

      Her touch sang mellow tunes on my discolored skin. And her eyes held my soul still, cuddled me as if I was once in her womb.

      Tender, careful breathing into my lungs she did. I looked at her. She only smiled. The air sounded an apology.