Wearing nothing but a blanket,
  wrapped loosely 'round my hips,
There's a swelter and a swagger,
  when I sweep the floor with it,
As I wander through the kitchen,
  to the window facing east.
Where the last of wilting jasmine,
  tries desperately to cling.
To the cool and most reviving shade,
  of the persimmons tree.

I watch after your mother.
between dizzy-spells and cups of tea,
I read to her the latest styles,
from fashion magazines.
Her mind is a riddle,
  and ridden with dementia
She asks, "What's in the box?",
though there doesn't seem to be one.
I suspect she means the tissue,
and I tell her that it is.
Then she gives me a great smile,
just like a little kid.

I spent the day in idleness,
I could think of nothing better,
Than to do exactly what I'm doing,
Waning in this shelter.
I lay in bed on the side
where you sleep facing me.
I smelled your smell,
to decipher it.
Masculine yet sweet.
I'm feeling like a treasure chest,
I don't have a use.
Until you want to open me,
to steal my gold doubloons.