Remembering past generosity,
he marvels at her body’s subtle turning;
thinks back on misplaced nights
when, porous, warm, she would take him in.
He was a refugee from bone-cold rain.
She was happy to oblige his plea for heat,
or asylum from the mind’s black
mutterings. They seemed, to him, to come
in waves on nights misplaced.
Thinking back, he wonders if her body’s
subtle turning toward his own,
his pulsing counterparts -
penis, heart – augured kindness,
or merely resignation.