To think how I used to criticize most what I loved, the extravagant cloth and substance of your obdurate self, the cashmeres, leathers, silks, all stuff both of us prized and coveted, which you admitted and I did not. Your parents think you're out of town. Only closest friends are told. Potted plants, fresh cut flowers, friends who call from overseas, and friends who visit at all hours, lift your spirits by degrees. Both men and women nurses flirt because you're sweet as columbine.
Needles go down a special slot.
Linens into a covered bin. Across the way, doves in a dovecote burble and coo, as you grown thin. Blue masks protect you from our breath. The staff's equipped with rubber gloves. It's part of life, outwitting death.