Thanks to your always being a woman.

I remember when conversation became formality fading with our minds occupied by that which we could not cease. I'd hug you tightly, anticipating the day when my arms would return to their sides. I'd tiptoe around… so not to fall in.

I would answer the door in jeans and faded tee to find you buttoned to the neck in something asian and worsted and white, with patent leather, slippery and red, completing your torso below. I would warm your nose with mine and suppress the unrivaled bliss.

This morning I washed my sheets even though I knew you weren't staying.