Nothing lasts long
in this heat
except the dark
of waiting.  At
2 am or 3 or
4 I lead her
like a child
with a night
mare to the
bathroom across
the hall.  If I
don't get the
wash cloth
right, not too
wet, or hot
or soapy, she
will refuse
demerol, lie
moaning, "I
can't."  It
seems those 
words are
my words